Catalyst
by Cobalt Jan
Summary: Johnny is haunted by visions of his past
1. chapter 1

Catalyst

Chapter 1

"Town? Tonight? What are you trying to pull, Scott? It's Tuesday."

Scott stood tall, offering an anxious smile. "Nothing, Johnny, I just thought maybe you needed a small diversion. You seem a little tense. A visit to The Painted lady, a few drinks, a few women and you'll be right as rain."

The two brothers stood toe to toe. Johnny jabbed an angry finger into Scott's chest. "Where the fuck do you get the cojones to tell me what I need? I'm sick of you. You're always thinking you know what's best for me! Well, you don't, Scott, you don't have a fucking clue."

In rapid succession Teresa let out a gasp at the offending language, Murdoch bellowed Johnny's name, casting a nervous glance in Teresa's direction, and Scott's head dropped. "Johnny, I'm sorry. It was just a suggestion. We don't need to…"

"Damn right we don't need to." He pushed past his brother. "I got everything I need right here," he shouted before sending the chair that sat innocently between him and a bottle of tequila crashing to the tile floor. He whipped the full bottle from the table and thundered up the stairs, two at a time. With an ear-shattering fury he slammed the door to his room.

A few silent tears spilled from Teresa's eyes. Murdoch moved in, wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.

Scott righted the fallen chair with a heavy sigh. "That went well. Good thing I didn't upset him."

"Scott, this isn't funny!" Teresa's words caught on her halting breath. "That didn't go well at all. If your carelessness drives him off…"

"Carelessness? We've all been tiptoeing around him for weeks now and it's getting worse. I say we take the bull by the horns and…"

"And what, Scott? Drive him off just like last year and the year before? One of these times he won't come back to us, or worse, he won't be able to." Teresa shuddered as the tears cascaded down her face.

Murdoch looked from his ward to his son. Johnny had indeed touched their lives. A twinge of jealousy forced him to distance himself. Both Scott and Teresa had managed, for the most part, to break through Johnny's hardhearted façade but not him. No, for whatever reason, he still did not completely understand his younger son and he feared that he never would. Perhaps there were too many unspoken words between them, words he longed to hear. Of course, right now no one understood why each year, at this time, Johnny was consumed by the need to escape.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A low groan escaped Johnny's mouth as he laid half awake in his bed. The soft mattress cocooned his aching muscles while sleep still clouded his eyes. Trapped between wakefulness and slumber, his mind wandered to each of the people in his life and how important they had become; yet at this moment, through no fault of theirs, he felt outside their circle of love. Why was it so hard to change? How do you take the rambling out of a man? It certainly seemed easy to scour Scott of his city ways, but how do you stop a man from looking over his shoulder? Not just any man, a man who lived by the gun and who had every expectation of dying by the gun. How do you forget the faces of those you've killed and most importantly, how do you fight the urge to protect those around you when protecting them means leaving? Johnny Lancer thought he had; thought he'd put it all behind him. For almost a year now he could go an entire day without a memory creeping into his thoughts. But the last few weeks had been different. Faces from his past, long forgotten, would appear at the oddest times, causing his heart to race and his stomach to twist itself into a knot.

When had these people, his family, gotten to know him so well? How could they pick up on his uneasiness almost before he did? Murdoch was keeping a watchful eye on him, and it was making him very uncomfortable. Teresa was going out of her way to cook the foods he liked best and was constantly asking if there was anything he needed. Scott, now his tactics were a little different. Last night… wanting to go to town… On a Tuesday night no less. Like a quick fuck is going to make all this shit go away.

Calloused fingers scraped his face, reminding him of how much his life had changed these past few years. Growling, he grudgingly wrested himself from the blankets. It was hard to get going most days. Muscles fought the command to move and joints ached from years of abuse, but today they were especially cantankerous. As his feet touched the floor they kicked the nearly empty bottle of tequila that had given its life in a valiant effort to quiet his demons. He regretted his decision to drink so much, and both his head and stomach were making their displeasure known.

The shuffle of feet outside his door brought the realization that it was much later than he'd hoped. Jelly's feeble attempt at a whisper could be heard. "He's a stirring. Oughta be any minute now." This was followed by the thud of boots making their way downstairs.

Johnny snatched the bottle from the floor and drained the last of its contents into his mouth before pulling on his pants. The golden liquid warmed him until it hit his stomach like a mule kick. Swallowing repeatedly, he managed to keep it down. With boots in hand, he made his way down the stairs and was greeted by four faces waiting expectantly for him. "So, is this what Sam sees each time I manage to get busted up, you all standin' round like cows? Well, I'm fine. Now get about your business."

Murdoch met Johnny's gaze with one of frustration. "Good, Johnny, you're up."

Johnny's voice remained soft in sharp contrast to the night before, not because he felt more at ease, but because his head repeatedly pounded out the reminder. "You got something to say, Old Man?" Why was this happening? Why was he trying to push away the people who loved him? His eyes squeezed shut as his fist pounded his thigh. He struggled for control but feared he was losing the battle.

Teresa scurried toward the kitchen, her voice cracking nervously. "I'll get some more coffee."

Murdoch turned to Jelly, offering only a scowl.

"Shucks, this man knows when to pick up and run." Jelly's shoulders hunched. "I mean…"

Murdoch's voice was hard. "We know what you mean, Jelly. Just go make sure the wagon's ready."

"But I already… I mean…Oh never mind." With his hat in his hand, Jelly backed up toward the door looking apologetic.

The remaining eyes turned toward Johnny as the door clicked to a close. A wave of nausea caused him to falter slightly on his feet and he leaned back against the sofa. Scott and Murdoch shifted their stance, keeping their eyes locked on his face until he dropped his head to avoid their stares. "What do you want from me? I'm doing the best I can."

"Well, maybe that's not good enough, Johnny."

Raising his head, Johnny cast an ice cold stare. "So what would you have me do?"

Scott stepped between the two men and placed his hands on Johnny's shoulders. "What he's trying to say is, maybe you need our help. Maybe you can't do this alone." Johnny looked at his brother. Dios, he hated the look of desperation in his eyes, knowing damn well he was the reason for it. "Maybe if you told us, Johnny, maybe if you…"

"Enough, Scott!" Johnny raised his arms, removing Scott's hands and spinning away from his brother. "I don't know why I feel like crawling out of my own skin. I don't know why my belly gets to feeling like I've taken a sucker punch. But I do know that last year by this time I was gone and this year… this year, I'm still here. That oughta be worth something."

"Last year? Don't get me started on last year, Johnny." Murdoch's face aged ten years in a heartbeat. "We'd have never found you if we didn't get word from that Texas Ranger saying you'd taken a bullet meant for him."

He couldn't help letting a hint of a smile get through. Just for a second. "Yeah, well I would have come back, Murdoch."

"That doesn't matter anymore, Johnny, this has to stop. It's not fair to the rest of us."

"Not fair? I'll tell you about not fair…" Attempting to hold Murdoch's gaze, Johnny quickly turned away as he felt the sting of tears. "I've got work to do. We're done here." Without looking back he grabbed his hat and gun from the rack and walked out.

Barranca was saddled and waiting. Johnny silently thanked Jelly for his forethought. He nuzzled the neck of the horse as he fought to gain control of another wave of nausea.

"Johnny?" Teresa stood behind him, her voice soft. He felt the tense muscles of his back relax but he remained still. "I put some biscuits in your pack and gave you an extra canteen."

Without moving, Johnny responded, "Thank you, Teresa."

He felt her fingers sweep across his back then slip away. The stones, beneath her feet, crunched as she turned to leave.

"Teresa..." Johnny turned and looked at her. He could see traces of tears on her face. Stepping closer, he pressed his lips to her forehead. "I'll be home for dinner. Promise."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Wind at his back and Barranca beneath him, Johnny stretched long in the saddle. He rolled his head and shoulders in an attempt to release some of his knotted muscles and was rewarded when he felt the tightness ease. It felt good. Even the throbbing in his head had lessened to a mere rumble.

The uphill trail from the house to the south pasture was winding and, up to now, rarely used. That was about to change. Lancer was adding 800 head to this year's herd and the overgrown field was now valuable pasture, or would be, once cleared of unwanted brush.

Johnny drew in a deep breath and let out a half hearted chuckle. He finally smelled it, finally knew what Teresa was talking about - a faint fragrance. He recalled Teresa's protest at hearing the plans for the pasture. She'd acted like a child, stomping her feet and pouting all through dinner.

'They smell far too beautiful to destroy and they bloom for such a short time. Why can't you wait until the end of the month?' She had looked pleadingly from one Lancer to the next, searching for an offer of support. None came. 'You must smell them…tell me you smell them. At night? When you lay in bed?' More blank stares resulted in her dropping her appeal.

Dinner, with a real family, his real family, had become the best part of his day. These were a far cry from the meals eaten in menacing silence with his mother and her latest man.

Sorrow tugged at his heart. What was he doing to the people in his life now? People who cared for him? Murdoch was right, this had to end. One way or another, this had to end.

As the ridge of the hill came into view he found himself looking forward to some manual labor. Scott had half-heartedly offered to help, but Johnny needed to be alone, and in his current state, Scott quickly backed down. He was fairly certain Murdoch would send a rider out to check on him during the day and for some reason that annoyed him. At the crest of hill, he was struck by the magnitude of yellow flowers covering every tree and shrub, and paused briefly to absorb its beauty. A long forgotten memory sparked as he recalled the same flowers growing wild just outside the back door of the last house he and Mama lived in. They always blossomed right around her birthday and she would call them her gift from God. Her eyes would close and, with a smile, she would draw a slow deep breath and say, "Gracias Dios por mis dos regalos; acacia dulce y mi Juanito dulce." It always made him feel special, knowing she thanked God for both, the sweet flowers and her sweet son.

A sudden shift in wind sent a rush of the sweet fragrance in his direction. With the memory fresh in his mind he closed his eyes and prepared to savor this moment of childhood bliss. Instead, it hit him with the force of a double barrel shotgun. Johnny's reaction was swift. His stomach shuddered, spewing its sparse contents without warning while a cold sweat erupted on his skin. Barranca, as if aware of his rider's sudden discomfort, stopped in his tracks. Johnny quickly dismounted. Fear twisted each and every muscle in his body, pulling him into a huddled ball. He crouched low to the ground and wrapped his arms tight around his body, shaking violently.

"Come on. What the fuck's wrong with you, Boy? Afraid of some God damn flowers, Mama's flowers. It's loco, that's what it is." He spoke hoping the sound of his own voice would prove calming. Fighting the instinct to stay put he pulled himself up and walked Barranca down the embankment into the yellow sea of flowers. The smell became suffocating and put every inch of his body on edge. He buried his face in Barranca's neck and the scent calmed him.

Finally, he removed his bandana, soaked it with water from his canteen, and tied it in place around his mouth and nose, determined to do the job he'd set out to do.

The pasture was deathly quiet and he jumped when he heard what he thought was laughter. Looking about, he saw no one. Johnny continued to press on, so lost in thought he didn't even notice the thorns tearing into his shirt and skin. There it was again – laughter – then "Juanito" and more laughter.

Again, his eyes searched. "Mama?" He heard his own voice, but it took a moment for him to comprehend it was he who'd spoken. Johnny looked around as the realization washed over him. He must have finally gone stark raving mad. He'd seen those men with wild eyes roam the border towns, talking to themselves. Hell, he'd even made fun of one or two in his youth. How else do you explain hearing your mother's voice? Your long-dead mother's voice. Pulling his hat as low over his face as he could, Johnny crumpled to the ground convinced he'd lost touch with reality.

A shiver traveled down his back. The crippling fear had returned. He had to hide so no one could find him. Panic caused his hands to shake and his eyes to grow wild. He climbed inside the largest shrub. As he did, the thorns ripped his shirt and tore his flesh. The crimson flow seeped through the fabric, dotting it with fresh blood. Each breath he took hurt. He remembered a time, a time as a boy, a time long forgotten, when he huddled beneath just such a bush.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he fought to push away the memories. The memories pushed harder.

Voices, he heard voices as he struggled to stay hidden. With each breath he told himself, "No sound - no sound - no sound." Hidden in the thorny branches, the fragrance of flowers mingled with the smell of blood, so much blood. He tried once more to push the memories of that day back where they belonged, but it was too late. The visions were beginning to emerge piece by piece from the darkest corners of his mind.

A distant voice called to him, "Hungry, Johnny?" The voice was so very far away. "Johnny! Thought you'd want some lunch. Johnny?" But, Johnny didn't want to be found and even if he did there was no strength left to stand, to call out, not even to cry.

"Johnny?" It was Jelly. He repeated his call, but he would get no answer. Shit, ain't no one seeing this sight. No one.

"Bettin' you're sleepin' off that nasty head a yours. Ain't ya, Johnny? Well you can count on ol' Jelly ta keep your secret." He grabbed hold of Barranca's reins and continued his one-sided conversation. "Just gonna keep Barranca safe for ya. Tied him up real good. Ya hear? And I'll be back later."


	4. Chapter 4

Catalyst

**Catalyst**

**Chapter 4**

It was finally quiet. The only sound heard was the staccato rhythm of his inward breaths. With each rapid intake of air, an image would flash before his eyes. Blood – so much blood, the glint of a knife, these accursed flowers and hands, so many hands.

Johnny's heart quickened as bits of memory began to play out in his mind. He was hiding just as he was now; huddled beneath the golden flowers. Blood on his skin and clothes turned from bright red to deep crimson as it dried. In his tightly clenched hand: a knife. The blood pooled at the hilt before falling in big drops with a reverberating 'plomp'

Socorro's voice was the first to break the silence. "Más rápidamente! ella está aquí." (Hurry! She's here)

His frantic tone pushed Inez to move faster; her doughy body resisting. Inez was the closest thing to a doctor in this village; she mothered the whores and mended the boys as best she could. Her feet shuffled past and stopped at the door.

"Mi Dios! Maria!"

More and more people gathered at the door of the casita, all talking at once. Eventually each asked the same questions.

"¿Dónde está el muchacho?"(Where's the boy?) ¿Él hizo esto? (Did he do this?)

Socorro, the latest man to claim Maria, spoke up "Sí, el muchacho hizo esto. Lo vi. Entonces él escurr. ¡Encuéntrelo! Él debe pagar." (Yes, the boy did this. I saw him. Then he ran off. Find him! He must pay.)

Frenzy built quickly as everyone began the search for the murderous mestizo. Hands, so many hands, reached in and pulled him from his hiding spot.

"¡Mirada! ¡Él todavía sostiene el cuchillo! ¡Asesino! ¡Asesino!" (Look! He still holds the knife! Murderer! Murderer!)

Fists and feet pounded on his slight frame. He still carried the bloody knife, which he used repeatedly to ward off the agonizing blows until someone's heavy boot came down hard on his clenched fist, causing him to release the blade as his hand gave way to the brute force. Within moments one end of a rope bound his feet as the other end was firmly secured to a horse.

Johnny released a guttural scream, stopping the painful memory. He wept openly as the realization of what he'd done burned through to his soul.

Scott saw the outline of Barranca at the crest of the hill and the silhouette of a man seated on the ground next to him. Urging his horse on, he released the breath he didn't know he was holding. Damn Jelly, why hadn't he told him sooner? He hoped, no prayed his brother was all right. Siding up to him, Scott was off his horse before it stopped. There was no reaction from his brother. Johnny sat cross legged on the grass his gun cradled in his lap. He seemed unaware of his older brother standing behind him.

Releasing a long low whistle Scott broke the silence "I see what Teresa means. This is really quite spectacular." There was a long pause but finally a response.

"To some, maybe," Johnny's voice cracked slightly.

Hearing Johnny's voice and seeing he was not in any immediate danger, Scott waved off the other riders he'd left behind in his dust. He waited patiently for Johnny to continue. The younger man's face was hidden from view. His hat tilted low and he sat studying his gun carefully. What he did see was the torn and bloodied shirt. He reached to touch Johnny's shoulder.

"You OK brother?" Silence was his only answer. "Hope you don't mind if I take a seat. Been on my feet all day building that new corral." Without waiting for an answer he sat down.

Minutes ticked off slowly as Scott waited for his brother. Finally Johnny broke the long silence.

"Been sittin' here better part of the day arguing with this here gun."

He was hard to understand. Scott inched closer. Not sure what to say, he sat waiting for more.

"I'm just tryin' to do the right thing is all. Seems I haven't been doing that much lately." The shakiness in his voice revealed Johnny was crying.

"And what would that be, exactly?" Scott asked anxiously.

"Maybe it's what I've wanted all along. Hopin' somebody else would be the one to put the bullet in me." Johnny paused to catch his breath. It seemed just speaking used every ounce of his energy. "It really shouldn't be that hard. I've done it to others enough." He stopped again as he wiped his face with the back of his hand "But no, this gun has to go and argue with me."

Realizing what Johnny meant pained Scott deeply.

"Well, ya know, a very wise man once told me 'never argue with a fire arm, especially one in the hands of Johnny Madrid." Scott's words were soft and compassionate.

Johnny raised his head and tuned to face Scott for the first time. He looked pitiful, his face covered in scratches, dirt, blood and streaks of tears. But it was his eyes that caused his older brother to draw in a sharp breath. Blood shot and swollen, they seemed to look right through him. The story they told was one of complete and absolute despair. Scott felt the sting of his own tears rolling down his cheek.

"Just tryin' to do the right thing," he repeated.

"There are a lot people who would disagree with you on that 'right thing' part, little brother. One of them is me. How could you possibly think that is the right thing?"

"Oh, I got my reasons." There was a hint of Johnny in those words – the real Johnny. You could almost hear the word 'brother,' even though he didn't actually say it.

"Well why don't you tell me one then? See if I agree."

Johnny looked back down at his gun and released a quivering sigh. "Cuz it was me." His voice was almost inaudible. He pulled his knees up into himself, wrapped his arms around his legs and began to rock slowly.

Scott moved in closer, gently removed the gun from Johnny's hand and put his arms around his brother's shoulders. He wanted to know more, but didn't want to make demands. This boy, in his arms, was far too fragile.

Shadows stretched across the field below and the sky traded its brilliant blue for shades of purple and red. The chill of the evening began to settle around them and Scott knew those waiting at home would be growing concerned. "What say we head for home Johnny?" Scott stood and offered a hand up.

Ignoring the outstretched hand Johnny pushed himself from the ground slowly, swaying slightly as he stood. Scott reached to steady him, and this time his brother accepted the offer of help. As he prepared to mount Barranca he spoke softly.

"You sure about this? You sure Murdoch's gonna want me under his roof when he finds out I'm the one."

"The one what, Johnny? Stop talking in riddles."

"I killed my own mother Scott. Do you think you could live with that?"

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Catalyst

Part 5

"They're on their way back, Sir." Frank stood in the entrance to the hacienda, his hat in his hands "Might be a while 'fore they get here. Don't seem to be in much of a hurry."

"Why don't you grab some dinner and call it a day."

"I'll take that dinner but if it's just the same to you I'll be in the barn getting the stalls ready for their horses. Need to see for myself he's OK. Johnny's a good man Mr. Lancer, a good man."

"Thank you, Frank."

Murdoch paced the great room watching the darkening sky. He never tired of hearing people say Johnny was a good man. He was. But then there were the other times. Jelly had probably been right, he was probably sleeping off his aching head or drinking more to mask it. He placed his hands on his lower back and tried to stretch out the kinks. Why did it always act up when he worried? And nine times out of ten it was Johnny he worried about.

He hated to wait. With each moment the irritation grew. The boy had everyone worked up, worried about him; for nothing no doubt.

Teresa's questions pulled him from his reverie "Any word yet? Do we know anything?"

"They're on their way. Frank just rode in." He looked at Teresa; her delicate features looked haggard, aging her. "Why don't you go to bed, dear? They're moving slow. You can see them in the morning."

"No, I couldn't. I need to see for myself that Johnny's alright."

"Of course he's alright!" Annoyance seeped into his voice "How many times do I have to say it. Scott waved the men off. If there was trouble he'd have needed their help. Go to bed, Teresa." His tone was harsh, much more so than he wished but he didn't want her to see Johnny drunk again. Not again, not after last night. Teresa stormed off toward her room but he was pretty certain she would just sit on the stairs, out of the way, and wait.

Waiting – God, how he hated waiting.

Staring out the large window his eyes strained to catch sight if his sons. Finally, the pale moonlight silhouetted two riders. His shoulders dropped when the outline confirmed his suspicion. One rider sat tall in the saddle while the other was hunched over and appeared unsteady. Yup Johnny, no doubt, had gotten drunk – again. "Damn," he muttered.

Teresa jumped up from her spot on the stairs. "Do you see them? Are they coming?" She stood beside him searching the darkness. "Oh, Murdoch they are coming!" She pushed passed him as she made for the door.

The riders slowed to a stop. Scott dismounted gracefully and was at Johnny's side as he slid from the worn saddle, knees buckling under his own weight. Scott steadied him. Murdoch glared as the anger welled within his chest. He stood toe to toe with his young son, shouting "What were you thinking? We have expectations and you shirk your duties. Drunk again, you're ruining….."

Before Johnny raised his head in response Scott wedged himself between the two. "Murdoch, hold your tongue! Leave him be! You have no idea what you're talking about." He then quickly turned to Frank as he passed off the horses. "Send someone out for Sam. Understand?"

"I'm on my way. Should be back before first light." Frank placed a hand on Scott's shoulder "He OK?"

"I don't know, Frank. I don't know."

Johnny stumbled over the threshold as Teresa guided him into the house. Murdoch could only shake his head in disgust. "I really don't see why you need to bother Sam with this Scott; for God's sake can't you see he's blind drunk? Why are you coddling him?"

"Because that's what he needs." Scott turned and followed the others into the house.

Alone, Murdoch stood on the veranda. Why was it so difficult for him to show compassion toward his own son? Why did Johnny's pain instill only antagonism? Could it be he reminded him so much of her? The infectious smile, the dip of the head and the penetrating stare; God even after all these years he missed her. Leaning on the rail his pulse quickened; she still had that affect on him.

From a wealthy family she was well educated, much like his first wife, Catherine, but that's where all similarities ended. Her beauty was exotic, possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. And the fire she carried within had caused him to blush.

It wasn't just physical, besides the sex there was conversation, laughter, respect and love - deep and permanent. What was it he'd told Johnny once? Today's fire tomorrow's charcoal….well that certainly wasn't how he felt. How could he have been so naïve? The rumors that swirled after she'd gone dealt him a crushing blow. If not for this ranch who knows what would have become of him. He hungered for one morsel of her life once they'd left. Why wouldn't his son share just a piece of that life? Was that really too much to ask?

Sighing heavily Murdoch returned to the house. Teresa was busy with water and cloth as she tried to clean some of Johnny's wounds. Johnny was oddly quiet and Scott had just come down stairs with a fresh shirt.

"So, what's his story this time, Scott? Or do I even care?"

Scott paused to glare at his father "I find your attitude unsettling, Murdoch. I think we almost lost him tonight."

"And exactly how is that possible? He got drunk and fell in some bushes. I'm supposed to take pity on him?"

"No, Murdoch, God forbid you show him compassion. But something is eating right through him. I think he'd rather die than face what he's got locked up inside. I'm not sure, but if I arrived much later I think I would have brought back a corpse. Johnny Madrid would have killed his last."

"How can that be, Scott? How can that be?" He shook his head unable to comprehend that level of despair "What could possibly push him to this? It's not like Johnny to give up."

"I'm not sure he has yet. If he had..." Scott shuttered "I've seen it. I've watched strong men swallow the business end of their pistol."

Murdoch turned to watch Johnny as he leaned back on the sofa. Slowly losing his struggle to stay awake, the space between each flutter of lash grew longer and longer until finally they rested. He watched as his face relaxed and the tension faded. Teresa still remained by his side, worry darkening her face. She looked up. "He hasn't said one word. Not one word."

Lost in the look of his young son's face, memories of his mother returned. He drew in a long slow breath remembering - watching her sleep by his side, their new son nestled between them. They were the happiest moments of his life.

"Stop, Johnny! You're hurting me. Let go!" Teresa was struggling to free herself from Johnny's grasp.

Both men jumped to her aid, trying in vain to pry Johnny's fingers from Teresa's forearm. He was twisting about struggling to escape but not letting go. Wretched cries of "No, no por favor. No!" and "¡Ayúdeme!" (Help me) bounced off the walls magnifying the terror in his voice. Then as suddenly as it began the room fell silent. Johnny slipped to the floor resting his head on his knees. Teresa sobbed softly watching as the marks from his fingers deepened in color.

"Let's get some cool water on that Teresa," Scott said as he ushered her to the kitchen "It's sure gonna be a beaut."

Murdoch's anger began to boil over "What in God's name is wrong with you? What were you thinking, Johnny?"

Johnny curled up tight "Estoy Apesadumbrado. No me golpee por favor, yo están apesadumbrado. (I'm Sorry. Please don't hit me, I'm sorry.)

Upon hearing what seemed to be the voice of a little boy, Murdoch softened. "Johnny? I won't hit you." He eased himself to the floor next to his son, knowing how difficult it would be to get back up again with his back. "Johnny?" He placed a hand on his son's shoulder. Johnny lifted his head with a start. His blue eyes darted about the room looking fearful and confused as if unsure of where he was. Familiarity finally took control as a cryptic smile stretched across his lips.

"Boy, I must be pretty messed up, if you're on the floor tryin' to offer comfort."

Murdoch had no choice but to return a bittersweet smile. How does he do that? How does he take a heavy heart and lighten it with a few off-hand remarks?

He watched as Johnny slowly straightened out. Muscles tensing in his cheeks revealed the discomfort of his numerous cuts and scratches. Reaching to rub a tender spot on his shoulder his hands shook. "Damn," he muttered as he wrapped his arms around himself. "I'm so tired."

"You've got a soft bed waiting for you upstairs."

Johnny's eyes widened. "Ain't no way I'm sleeping again tonight. Ain't no way."

"You have to sleep, Son."

"Not tonight. One dream like that is enough. Dragged through the streets clinging to whatever I can get my hands on. The cheers and laughter, everyone happy to see the little mestizo cryin' like a baby." He sucked in a long agonizing breathe. "God it hurt."

"Why, Johnny?"

"It's what they do to murders. Drag them till the flesh tears from their bones and there is nothing left."

"When Johnny, when did this happen?"

He jumped to his feet, wound tighter than a new watch. "I can't talk about this. Not now. Not with you. Where's my gun? I need my gun. SCOTT! Where's my gun?"

"Relax. Scott's calming Teresa. It's just you and me." Slowly he pushed himself off the floor with a grunt. "We can talk, can't we?"

"Don't do no good talkin'. It's past."

"No Johnny, that's where you're wrong, it's not past - it's now. Right now."

"He knows better than to take a man's gun. I need my gun." Johnny's agitation grew. He moved about the room from corner to corner, "I need my gun." darting back and forth flipping cushions - searching. "What did he do with my gun?" Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and his fingers hovered where his gun should be. He was shouting now and pulling books off the shelves - Moving always moving. "Scott! Scott! Where's my gun? Scott!"

Scott finally appeared at the base of the stairs. "Shhh keep your voice down. Teresa has finally stopped crying. You left quite a bruise, Brother."

"Bruise? I hurt Teresa? Damn." Johnny quieted "Damn. I hurt Teresa. Scott where's my gun? I need my gun. Just give me my gun!"

Scott's eyes narrowed. "We're in for one hell of a long night, Murdoch. Hope you're up for it."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Catalyst**

**Part 6**

The first golden streaks of sunlight were making their presence known as Sam entered the Lancer arch. He'd come as quickly as he could once Frank woke him from the first sound sleep he'd had in weeks. Very little information was provided about Johnny's condition. The answers to his questions only created more questions. Questions Frank seemed unwilling or unable to answer.

Bringing his buggy to a full stop in front of the large house he was taken aback at seeing Johnny sitting on the veranda. Scattered about him were rags, oil and his gun – in pieces.

"Can't say I expected to see you out here, Johnny." He slowly approached the young man watching him carefully. "You look like hell."

"That a professional opinion, Doc?" Johnny's attempt at a smile proved ineffective. "Got myself a tad riled is all. But this is helpin' - a bit." His hands shook in a hopeless effort to wipe the barrel of his weapon. Frustration was evident as he squeezed his eyes shut and tucked his hands under his arms.

"You don't say, Johnny. Just how riled were you?"

"Well, ya know Doc….." His vacant gaze fell on Sam's face "It ain't right to take a man's gun. Nope, it just ain't right at all." His voice was strained and exposed the young man's exhaustion.

"Did someone take your gun, Johnny?"

"Scott. But I got it back – like this – damn him." He held up his trembling hands "I can't… I can't put it back together."

The desperation in Johnny's voice cut Sam to the quick forcing him to look away. "Where's Scott now, Johnny?"

"Inside, with Murdoch. Watch out. It's a bit of a mess."

The house was quiet and little of the morning's light had found its way through the heavy drapes. In the darkness Sam kicked the silver tray where it lay and sent it clattering across the floor.

"Told ya it was a mess." Johnny leaned against the doorframe surveying the cluttered landscape.

Scott and Murdoch stirred. The fog of sleep lifting, they both looked to the sofa, where Johnny had finally settled after being handed the pieces of his coveted gun. Startled at seeing the space where he'd lain empty they simultaneously jumped from their chairs. "Johnny?"

His soft drawl calmed them instantly. "Still here, if that's what you're thinkin'."

"I'm glad of that Johnny." Scott yawned. "Figured you'd sleep a while once you finally nodded off." "

A half smile appeared on his lips before he dropped his head. "Nope. Told ya there was no way I was goin' to sleep. But ain't so crazy as to know I only had to lie still a few minutes 'fore you did. Believe I tuckered you both out."

Murdoch stretched out his back. "Yes, Johnny I believe you did."

Scott, fingered the shiner he now sported around his left eye. "That, little brother, is an understatement."

By now Sam had pulled open the drapes revealing the chaotic state of the great room. Books had been pulled from the shelves, chairs toppled and papers strewn. Even Murdoch's beloved clipper ship's main mast was snapped and dangled precariously by its riggings.

"Well, I sure don't want to be around when Maria sees this," Sam muttered shaking his head.

Relief brightened Scott's face upon seeing the doctor. "Sam! You're here!" His long strides closed the gap between the two men and he put his arm around the good doctor. Lowering his voice he asked, "Can we speak outside?" He then continued toward the door stopping in front of his brother. "You ok Johnny?" he asked as he placed a hand on his brother's shoulder.

Muscles in the young man's face tensed as his fingers moved in and out of a fist. He shot back through clenched teeth "You can quit asking me that ya know. It don't do no good." He reached out to touch Scott's bruise but pulled back. "Better make sure the doc takes a look at that." He looked down at the floor and kicked at the upturned carpet. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Scott replied giving the shoulder a gentle pat. He then turned to Sam, "Ready?" and stepped into the morning light.

Sam followed close behind, anxious to gather additional information as to Johnny's behavior. It was obvious there was something wrong with his young friend but he needed more details.

The early sun cast shadows over Scott's face accentuating his distress. He blew a heavy breath through pursed lips before beginning. "I don't think I need to tell how upset we are. When I found Johnny last night…..he had no fight left in him…. he wanted to die. Kept saying he just wanted to do the right thing. Damn it Sam! How could Johnny - dead - ever be the right thing?"

"It couldn't, Scott"

"If something like this can happen to him it doesn't bode well for the rest of us. He's always so strong." The young man paced nervously.

"A person can only hold so much, Scott. Something has to give. Kind of like a dam, it can look strong and imposing, but all it takes is water and once the cracks start, well the slightest thing can set it into motion."

"He has been restless the past few weeks but something grabbed hold yesterday. He's remembering things…bad things. For God's sake he thinks he killed his own mother." Scott stopped pacing and locked eyes with the kindly doctor. "No wonder he never talked about it. Which is worse, Sam, knowing or admitting you don't remember?"

"I can't answer that, don't know if anyone could." He placed a sympathetic hand on Scott's arm "I'll do the best I can Scott but most of this is up to Johnny." He paused letting what he'd heard take root. "Does Murdoch know?"

"Not yet, didn't think it was my place." Scott gingerly pressed his blackened eye. "Well, Johnny didn't think it was my place."

Sam chuckled "He's wise – that Johnny. Must say I agree with him."

The doctor sat on the veranda turning the information over in his mind. He remembered Maria clearly and had always liked her. She seemed a loving wife and devoted mother. Her leaving was as surprising to him as to Murdoch. She had been in his office a few days before she left and was excited to be with child again, happy to be living the life of her dreams. As near as he could tell she never told Murdoch and of course neither had he. There certainly was no point once she left. He was devastated when she was gone with his little boy but he never stopped loving her.

"I have only one question, Scott. How do you think your father will react?"

Scott paused before answering, "I'm not sure. But Johnny has a pretty clear picture in his mind."

"Yes I imagine he does."

Johnny watched the two men walk from the dimly lit room into the morning's brightness. Their voices drowned out by the deafening silence that filled the great room. He and Murdoch just looked at one another. Finally the older man offered a weary smile "I'm sorry, Johnny. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."

"Guess lately I've given you plenty of reasons to think the worst."

"Still gives me no right. Your word should be good enough for me." Murdoch bent to right a toppled chair. He caught sight of the broken mast and approached it slowly. Johnny's stomach tightened as he prepared for a rapid change in attitude. "You know there are few things in this house that mean more to me than this ship." His finger flipped the broken piece in the air as it dangled.

"I know, Murdoch, and I'm sorry."

"No apologies necessary, young man. You, Johnny, you are far more important than this. Do you understand me? I'd rather see this smashed on the floor than lose you, Son."

"Well, that sounds good now but…."

"But nothing. There is nothing you could tell me that would change how I feel; you are my son." He averted his son's watchful eye by looking about the room "Sam's right you know I don't want to be around when Maria gets a look at this." And he began to busy himself with picking up**. **

He wanted to thank Murdoch for his restraint unfortunately all he could think was how desperately he needed to sit but he clung to the doorframe, afraid to let go. The room had taken on a waviness like heat rising in the desert and he feared hitting the floor. Unable to move he just stood, tightening his grip on the frame. Feeling his knees betray him the room began to darken. He readied himself for a hard landing when he heard a loud thud as Murdoch dropped his load of books and called out "Sam!" He then felt his father's large arms envelop him, planting him firmly in a chair and pressing his head between his knees.

The loud noise not only summoned Sam and Scott but Maria as well. One look at the great room and she was off on a Spanish tirade gathering scattered items as she ranted. Scott gently dropped his arm over her shoulder and ushered her from the room. In a hushed voice he suggested she continue on breakfast and he and Murdoch would straighten the mess.

Johnny started to sit up but thought better of it, resting his elbows on his knees instead, while Sam situated himself for a quick examination. "Johnny? When was the last time you ate something?"

Sitting motionless he picked a spot on the floor trying to regain focus. "Can't remember."

"Well, lets get Maria to fix you something special and while you eat we'll figure out what to do next." Sam made a swift exit into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with a grin. "I think you'll be pleased with Maria's suggestion. Let's get you to the sofa."

"I'll be all right. Just give me a minute." He thought for a moment then asked, "Sam, was Teresa in the kitchen?"

"Why yes, Johnny, she was."

"Would you take a look at her arm? Think I may have hurt it last night."

"Of course I will."

Sam made his way to the kitchen just as Scott returned to the great room. "I don't know why you rate such special treatment little brother, but I do believe that kitchen has never smelled so good."

A smile flashed across the young man's face as the tell tale fragrance of cinnamon and cloves wafted past. "Is that capirotada I smell? Guess maybe I'm a little hungry after all."

"And what pray tell is capir.. capir.."

"Capirotada. Mexican bread pudding, Brother. Bet you've never tasted anything so good. And maybe, just maybe I'll share some."

Maria shook her head as she walked into the great room carrying the warm pan and placed it proudly on the table. "Mi calidad, tal lío." _(My goodness, such as mess) _ before turning to Johnny with a smile. "¡Goce!" _(enjoy_)

With renewed vigor he made his way to the table, cautiously scooping out a portion of the sweet goodness.

Sam kept a watchful eye "Go easy now. It may not be the best thing for you but Maria knew it would help brighten your spirits a smidge."

Johnny offered a lopsided smile. He looked at his plate almost fearful. Up until a few moments ago the thought of food, any food was revolting, but this before him brought back so many warm and comforting memories he had to try it. The first mouthful of warm sweet bread mixed with cheese and raisins caused the tension building in his chest to ease allowing him to draw in a long strong breath. He closed his eyes and remembered Inez serving up steaming bowls to him and his mama. They'd sit around the table feeling safe, laughing and enjoying life. These moments were fleeting but cherished just he same.

Opening his eyes he looked around this table at his family and friend and felt strangely at peace. It was a wonderful feeling that vanished as quickly as it came. Hoping to recapture the feeling he greedily ate a little more.

With just a few more forkfuls he realized maybe he wasn't as hungry as he thought; pushing the plate away he leaned back in defeat, licking the sticky syrup from his fingers as he closed his eyes and smiled a bittersweet smile. "Only Inez could come close to that." He volunteered without fully realizing he'd said it out loud

Expecting a story of a fiery young woman pampering his little brother with food and more Scott queried, "Inez? Can't say I've heard you mention her before, little brother. Do tell." He exchanged an optimistic look with the two older men.

Johnny sat quietly; memories of Inez flickered before him. A gentle smile formed on his lips as he remembered her kindness. She was a good friend to both him and his mother. It was her house he'd run to when Socorro was after him and her house his mother went to after she'd been beaten. She always made them feel safe. The smile began to fade as other memories came to light. It was her voice that told him his mother was dead as he wailed in disbelief and her arms that tried to comfort him as he realized he was completely alone. Then the harsh glare of her image leaving their casita, covered in blood, his mother's blood as she wept uncontrollably and repeated, "Ella es muerta. Maria es muerta." _(She's dead. Maria is dead)_. Eyes still closed his fingers squeezed the arms of the chair. Then came the voices of the others ¿Dónde está el muchacho? ¡Encuentren a muchacho! _(Where's the boy? Find the boy!) _With an unexpected burst he jumped up from the table breathing heavily. He was startled at seeing the three men staring at him. Embarrassed by his actions he struggled to regain control. Before walking out of the house he blurted "She was a friend. She took me in. That's all."

Unprepared for the abrupt change in demeanor Murdoch, Scott and Sam sat motionless looking at each other incredulously. Scott was the first to speak "Well, it appears I've done it again. I certainly have a knack for upsetting him."

Murdoch rested his head in his hands wishing he knew what to do, but felt powerless. A feeling he did not enjoy.

Sam rose without saying a word and followed Johnny out the door.


	7. Chapter 7

Catalyst

Part 7

Sam had given him two choices, neither to his liking but the rest of the family thought they were just fine. Get some sleep or revisit the dreadful field. Figurin' to go with the known rather than the unknown; sleep always bein' the unknown, he chose this – regretting the decision in short order. Here he was, crammed in the doc's buggy, on his way back to hell. At least the closest thing to hell he'd experienced; that wretched pasture. He didn't need to go back there; his new found memories had dug in deep, fixin' to stay. But doc wanted a first hand look and hoped it would get his patient talking. It sure was no secret that Johnny kept everything bottled up inside.

The ride, up to now, had been in complete silence. Sam offered a few stolen glances, accompanied by a thin smile and a firm pat on the thigh but no words. Finally, after clearing his throat more than once he spoke, "You know, Johnny, I'm at a loss. As a doctor I don't know if there's anything I can do for you; no medicine, nothing to put back together or remove." He shrugged. "That's what I do. But as a friend I can be a mighty fine listener."

Johnny ignored the doctor. He squirmed in the seat trying desperately to find one comfortable spot. There wasn't one. With each pitch of the damn buggy his stomach would heave. Why did he eat? All it did was make him realize how long he'd gone without a decent meal and at the same time form a solid lump in his belly that he was sure he'd lose.

After an extended silence Sam tried again. "There is a trick to being a good listener though; someone else needs to do the talking." With that he offered a stern fatherly face, the same face Murdoch would give when one of his boys arrived for dinner as dessert was being passed.

"Well, you can listen to this. I'd be a lot happier if you'd let me ride out here instead of bein' stuck in this damn buggy next to you." Annoyed, Johnny pulled his hat low over his eyes and leaned back as best he could in the cramped space. He was now actually grateful for the uncomfortable ride. Otherwise he feared he could doze off.

"Why don't you tell me what got you started yesterday? Scott said…."

Irritated, Johnny sat up, hat in his hands "Oh, Scott said did he? He had no business…"

"Now, Johnny, before you go spouting off, you have to know he's scared. He doesn't want anything to happen to you."

"Well, maybe he's got me all wrong. Maybe I've finally figured it all out and it's my fault everyone I care about ends up dead."

Sam glared at Johnny but the young man returned to his original position of hat over face. He could feel the doc's stare burn through his hat and closed eyes. "I don't want to do this, Sam."

"Well, the way I see it you've been called out, John Madrid Lancer. You can turn away and let this thing shoot you in the back or you can stand and fight. And in the three years I've known you I've never seen you walk away from a fight- no matter what the odds."

Hat still covering his face, Johnny remained silent. His brooding silence resonated displeasure. It sure was hard to argue with a man you knew in your heart was right, but he was damn well gonna have to wait; there was no way he'd get the satisfaction of winning this easily.

The carriage came to a stop getting a reaction from its passenger "Damn you, Doc."

"Sit up and take a whiff. A smell like this is bound to improve your disposition." Sam drank in the alluring sweetness with a faraway smile.

Johnny sat up removing his hat. The yellow flowers stretched out before him and the smell filled his nostrils. His chest tightened making it hard to draw a breath and his stomach lurched. Hands raised in the air in surrender he muttered "You win, Sam. You win." An involuntary shiver traveled the length of his body as he climbed from the buggy.

Sam swiftly moved by his side as Johnny stood motionless – staring, lost in a world of pain and tragedy; his pale face echoed the ache in his heart.

His words trickled out, deliberate, "– this - damned - smell. Thought I'd like it but it made me sick." He swallowed hard to settle his churning stomach. "Then stuff started coming into my head, made me feel like I was goin' crazy." Turning to Sam he made a desperate appeal, "I ain't crazy, Sam. Am I?"

"No, Johnny, near as I can figure you're not crazy."

The young man walked through the maze of bushes and trees absent-mindedly rubbing the scratches on his face and arms. This time when he looked at Sam tears welled in his eyes. "I'm only getting' pieces but I remember hiding with the knife as clear as I'm standing here. I was covered in blood, my mama's blood." There was a long pause as the images and despair of the past taunted him. "That's when they found me."

Sam walked closer trying to reach out, to offer some kind of comfort but Johnny backed away from the gesture. He straightened himself up in an effort to look commanding, his soft voice steady and sure "Have you ever seen a horse drag a man to death, Sam?" The man's silence confirmed Johnny's suspicions. "Well, I have and let me tell ya it ain't pretty. First they scream - bloodcurdling screams. Next they cry and whimper. Then the praying begins and when it's quiet and the body takes on an odd sort of bounce – it's over." He drew in a long agonizing breath trying to push back the tears. "Bits and pieces are left behind on the ground; blood, skin, hair. When you see the body it doesn't even look like a man." A quivering gasp passed his lips and his tall stature softened; eyes squeezed shut "That's what they did to me, Sam, only I didn't have the sense to die." His lungs hurt as be struggled for air before softly crumbling to his knees. In a voice so soft it was almost a thought he added, "I was barely ten."

Sam stood looking to the heavens searching for an answer to his question. How can anyone do that to a boy? Johnny spoke as if he heard the question, maybe he had; maybe he'd said it out loud. "I was no boy. I was a killer. I was the mestizo!" He spat the word out as if just saying it tasted bad.

The images of what he'd just heard were burning themselves permanently into his brain. This explained many of the scars he'd seen on this tortured young man. They had puzzled him. He had asked where they came from, once. Johnny had been recovering from Pardee's bullet. A blank stare was the only response. This had been a common answer to most questions so it didn't strike him as odd, but now he wondered if the poor boy blocked this horror too. This singular thought caused Sam to shiver, he knelt beside Johnny and tried to place a hand on his shoulder but the young man pulled away.

"Johnny, you're worthy of comfort. Please, don't turn away."

"Am I? I'm not so sure."

His defiant stare tried to strip Sam of all compassion but it was impossible. The doctor recognized the look of exhaustion and it concerned him. It was, after all, a feeling he was all too familiar with after spending all night tending to the sick or injured. Rational thought had to be difficult at this point.

"You don't seem to get it, Sam. No one does. I'm not worthy of anything." A defeated sigh escaped through closed lips.

"Someone thought you were worth saving, Johnny." A realization settled into the corners of Sam's mind. "Someone had to stop it. Someone believed you were worthy. Who, Johnny, who?

Pushing himself from the ground Johnny faltered slightly before standing unaided. He searched the doctor's face as the question wove its way through his murky and confused mind. "I - don't - know." He walked away slowly before stopping at the buggy, using it for support; he slid back down to the ground resting his back on the wheel. He pulled his knees up close to his body and rested his forearms. He was deep in thought as he twirled the beads on his wrist, occasionally looking back to the doctor as if expecting to find the answer hidden in his features.

With no answer forthcoming Sam took his position at the opposite wheel and waited, patiently. The sound of gunfire would have been less startling than the young man's voice when he finally spoke. Sam must have dosed off because Johnny loomed over him blocking out the suns rays "Near as I can figure there was only one person big enough, strong enough and dumb enough to stop that horse. Tocón."

Sam offered up a huge smile as he struggled to his feet. "Well, that's good! We're getting somewhere."

"I'm glad you think so."

"What say we head back?"

A tentative smile swept across the young man's face and for the briefest of moments a flicker of light brightened his lifeless eyes. Quickly looking away he surveyed his surroundings with contempt "Ya. I think I'd like that."

Discomfort was evident as he climbed into the buggy, his sluggish movements disconcerting. This simple process took his total concentration and left him drained as he slumped into the seat. An attempt at a reassuring smile was pitiful, his eyes, again, reflecting nothing but pain.

"Should I be worried, Johnny? You're not looking too good."

"Got nothing left; tired." He drew in a jagged breath. A morose chuckle escaped, "Tocón - must be dead by now- man like that doesn't last long in this world."

Sam prodded the horse into action, casting his passenger a sideways glance. "Why Johnny? Why would he be dead?"

"He just wasn't right. Missin' something." He gestured to his head, "up here." He leaned forward resting his own head in his hands. "They say he got kicked by a horse when he was a kid and got stuck."

"Stuck?"

"Yeah. He was like a kid but in a man's body. Lucky for me I guess. He was the best friend I'd ever had...hell, he was the only friend I ever had. Someone to stand between me and a fist." He paused and swallowed hard, "especially after… After." He covered his face with his hands "God Sam. Why did I do it? Why did I kill her?" Panic invaded his speech causing his voice to falter.

Sam brought the buggy to a halt and turned to face his passenger. "Johnny, I know you believe you did this terrible thing, but I think we need to get you to remember more. You said it was in bits and pieces and I think you're missing some very important information. I need you to promise me one thing. Can you do that for me?"

"Guess that depends on what you're askin'"

"I need you to promise not to do anything foolhardy. Give us time. I don't believe for one second you killed, Maria. We need to figure this out."

It was a long time before the next words were spoken. It was unclear if he'd actually fallen asleep; the sleep he so desperately needed. "Johnny?"

Before lifting his head he responded "I'm better now, Sam." He stretched and rubbed the back of his neck "It hurt before like being peeled away from the inside." Wrapping his arms around himself he hunched over as if feeling the intense pain again "It has to hurt pretty bad to start beggin' for a bullet. But I'm better now, just scraped raw, hollow. It hurts to breathe but nothing like it did. I can live with this. Hell, I've lived with this most of my life."

Not wanting a repeat of the silent outbound journey, Sam began with questions. Questions always on his tongue yet never asked. "Johnny, what can you tell me about Maria – your mother? What do you remember? Did she love you?"

With a wistful voice he answered. "Of course she loved me, Sam, and I loved her. A boy has a right, no matter where he grows up, to expect love from his mother and that's exactly what I got." Lost in thought he paused for a moment, "Every night, before she'd lie down to sleep she'd kiss me on my forehead." He raised his hand as if feeling the tender gesture. "She thought I was already asleep. But I couldn't – I could never fall asleep till I got that kiss. It told me everything was alright." He shook his head despondently "I think that's what I missed most, to be truthful - don't think I've had a good night's sleep since."

Sam regretted having to ask these difficult questions but the stories that swirled around Maria's departure painted a picture of an uncaring hateful woman. He took comfort in knowing the love this young man had felt. He deserved it in spades. "Did you move around a lot? How did you end up in that village?"

"You're askin' a lot of questions, Doc. Think maybe I should start chargin' what say dollar a question?" He flashed one of those big Johnny grins just before dropping his head.

"That's a mighty fine idea, Johnny. I'll give one dollar to the orphanage for every question you answer. Sound fair to you?"

"Well now, Doc, you know I can't refuse an offer like that. I believe you're up to five no…" He stopped for a moment counting on his fingers, "six dollars now if ya count 'sound fair to you'."

"Now, Johnny there is no way.…. I meant to say….. Oh, alright but I'll be watching myself carefully mind you. But you still have two to answer first."

The young man sat quietly for a moment or two before nodding. "You could say we moved around a lot. Fear drove us - it kept us going – kept us alive. Exhaustion forced us to stop. There was no great plan."

"What made you run this time, Johnny?" The doctor figured he'd asked one too many questions when Johnny cast him a cynical glance.

"You do know mama was a whore, right? And what do whores run from?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Men. It's always the same reason, just usually the men are different. But this time they were men we'd met before and after the three of them finished passin' mama around like a bottle of tequila they threw her a peso and said they'd be back and next time they had a pal that didn't fancy the women but that I'd make him real happy." Grabbing one of the canteens he paused to take a long drink. "We were on the road by nightfall. Mama was in no condition to travel but fear can push ya. By the second night she couldn't go no farther. I took off on my own to find help. It was daylight when I found him; a grown man the size of Murdoch playin' with a damn slingshot, Tocón. I'd be lyin' if I said he didn't scare the shit out of me but I had no choice. He came right away and carried her all the way to town and straight to his sister's place."

Sam looked straight ahead stunned by Johnny's candid disclosure. Never had this young man revealed so much about his childhood and the doctor was deeply moved. "His sister? Who was his sister?"

"Inez was his sister. You're pretty slow on the draw there doc. Do I have to draw ya a picture? Hope not cuz I can't draw for shit."

"No, Johnny. I'm good. So Inez took care of Maria?"

"Yup. We stayed with them for a while. She treated us mighty fine and you could always count on Inez to make Mama laugh." Johnny's voice softened. "They became friends; I'd never seen Mama with a friend. I don't think there were any secrets between those two." His look of happiness passed all too quickly as a darker memory pushed it aside. "It didn't take Mama long to find herself a man, someone to protect us she said. But who was supposed to protect us from Socorro?"

The conversation ended there. Even though Sam kept asking questions Johnny remained silent, lost in some of the less pleasant memories of his childhood.

The sight of Lancer pulled Johnny from his thoughts and he relaxed slightly. Murdoch and Scott walked out to greet them while Teresa stood in the doorway.

"Good. You're back!" Murdoch seemed relieved placing a gentle hand on his son's back. "You survived?"

The young man offered up his best imitation of a standard issue Johnny grin but it lacked the glint in his eyes. "Yeah I survived. Thanks, Murdoch."

"Let's go inside. I'm sure you're exhausted."

Teresa stepped back as they entered, the slightest trace of fear in her eyes.

Johnny pulled away from Murdoch's guiding hand and approached her. His voice was low. "I'm sorry, Teresa. I didn't mean to…."

"Oh, Johnny, I know it's not that. I just wish you didn't have those horrid memories to relive." Her arms reached out as she gave him a tender hug and whispered something in his ear.

Pulling away from the embrace Johnny had a hint of smile on his lips and a glint in his eye. "Thank you," he said as he turned toward Sam. "Oh, Doc! Perez, try Modesto, every chance he got and definitely dead. That's fourteen dollars." With that Johnny and Teresa walked through the door.

Scott looked at Sam bewildered. "What was that all about?"

"Only the most expensive house call I've ever made." Sam shook his head. "He always surprises me, Scott. Always."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Catalyst

Catalyst

Part 8

Johnny sprawled himself on the sofa, head back and legs spread wide before him. "Ahhh, a comfortable seat. Glad to be out of that darn buggy." His eyes followed Teresa as she flitted about the room, not landing anywhere but grabbing a pillow to fluff, tracing her finger over the mantle, moving a book from chair to table, wiping dust from a lamp then starting again.

"Can I get you something? Lemonade? Coffee? Milk? Sandwich?"

"Lemonade, if it will stop your dancin' 'round. You're making me dizzy."

A large smile decorated her pretty face as she ran off to the kitchen.

With eyes closed Johnny allowed himself to relax. It did feel good to be home. For so many years he had no home; no place to feel safe, no place where he belonged. But he knew he belonged here, knew it in his bones and in his heart. This was his home. That's what made it all so hard. He hated the thought of hurting the people he loved but he did seem to have a knack for it lately. His head grew heavy and the sounds of the house grew distant and muffled as sleep beckoned but Murdoch's voice snapped him back to wakefulness before it took hold.

A distracted Murdoch stood at the French doors "She hasn't known what to do with herself all day." he said never taking his eyes off Scott and Sam as they stood outside just past the veranda huddled together, deep in conversation.

Johnny sat up to look at his father. "Why don't you join them? Ya know your dyin' to hear the crazy talk I been spewin'

Turning to face his son, Murdoch shook his head. "You're not crazy, Johnny. I only wish you trusted me enough to tell me yourself."

"Some things you're better off not knowin'." He knew he should have regretted his tone but he was too tired to care and wasn't ready for this conversation – not yet. Murdoch shifted his focus back to the two men outside and Teresa returned with the lemonade. Taking the glass he nodded his thanks then ran it across his forehead and against his temples, wishing it would magically make his headache disappear, before setting it on the table beside him, untouched.

"I'll tell you one thing, all I wanna do right now is take a bath" He took a whiff of his shirt and pulled back "If I never smell those flowers again it will be too soon."

A half-hearted chuckle emanated from Murdoch as he stepped closer to his son "A bath? At least that will keep Teresa busy for a while." He offered his ward an affectionate wink. Make sure you ask for it hot." His eyes returned to the men outside. "Maybe I'll join them after all."

Murdoch approached the two men. Scott looked up, concern creased his brow. He offered his father a sympathetic smile.

"So Sam, what's the verdict here? Is there anything we can do for him or do we just watch him self-destruct?" Murdoch asked the question hoping there was a firm plan of action; something where he knew what to do and when. Taking care of a bullet hole or a broken bone suddenly seemed easy. This followed none of the rules and it left him frustrated.

Scott placed a hand on his father's shoulder. "We have one idea."

"That's it? One? And if that doesn't work what then?" Frustration tinged his words.

"Now, Murdoch, this isn't my field of expertise, but I thought if we could locate the woman who took him in, Inez, maybe she could shed some light on things. How do you feel about an acquaintance of Maria's coming for a visit?" Sam studied his friend carefully, gauging his reaction.

Scott looked at Sam in disbelief "Frankly his feelings about this don't matter. It's the only option."

"Scott's right, of course. We need to think of what's best for Johnny. If you think she might help by all means let's find her. Do we have any idea where she is?" The older Lancer felt the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders.

"Johnny suggested Modesto. Not sure how he knows but I've learned not to underestimate him. Thought I'd wire the sheriff there, maybe he can confirm."

"And if it's her, what then?" Murdoch did not allow himself the other obvious question… what if it wasn't Inez.

"I'll head out tonight and bring her back." Scott said. He answered Murdoch's unasked question with a cheeky grin. "I can be very persuasive."

Teresa delighted in the task of filling Johnny's tub. He stood watching her haul the buckets of hot water from the kitchen into the bath declining his repeated offers of help. In all honesty he wasn't sure how much help he'd be. Finally she relented, to a point, and allowed him to pour the full buckets into the tub.

"I knew I was heating all this water for a reason. I simply had to do something." She said as she passed him yet another bucket to pour into the now steaming tub.

"Don't ya think that's enough? Not lookin' to be boiled just clean."

She looked from Johnny to the tub and back again before breaking into a laugh. "Guess I did get a little carried away." Rolling up her sleeves she stuck her hand in the water then removed it quickly "Yes, a little carried away. I'll get some cold water."

Johnny saw for the first time the bruise on her arm. The dark purple marks left by his fingers looked painful and he placed a caring hand on her elbow to still her constant movement. "Stop, Teresa."

"Don't say it, Johnny." She looked directly into his eyes and gently ran her finger along a scratch on his cheek "Don't worry about me. It's your turn. Can you put yourself first? Can you do that?" Her eyes pleaded with his.

Finding it difficult to hold her gaze or respond to her question Johnny eyed the steam rising from the tub. He put his arms on her shoulders and led her toward the open door. "The water is fine, Teresa, I'm all set." He called out a heartfelt "Thank You" followed by a hushed, "I'll try." before leaning back against the solid wood of the door as it closed.

Alone. He was so tired, tired of thinking, tired of paying attention to everything he said or did, hell he was just tired of the whole damn thing.

Relieved the shaking in his hands had lessoned, he focused on his buttons. Carefully undoing each one, trying to block out all other thought. The scratches on his back clung to his shirt causing him to hiss softly as he pulled it away. Boots pried off, he tugged on his belt buckle then rolled his pants to the floor. Stripped naked he took a moment to reacquaint himself with the scar that ran from his right hip to his ribs before twisting around to his back; the rippled reminder of that horrible day. Gently he ran his fingers along the length causing an instinctive intake of air as he remembered the agonizing pain before stepping into the hot tub.

The almost painful heat of the water distracted him and he sighed deeply as it penetrated every inch of his body; drawing a deep breath he sank below the water. Lungs to the point of bursting, he rose to the surface; an image flashing before his eyes. This was not a long buried memory but one of his many living nightmares. Socorro's black eyes bore into him, filled with hate and lacking any signs of a human heart. Rough hands wrapped tightly around his neck. Gasping for the smallest gulp of air he fought, struggling to escape. Socorro's mouth twisted in anger as his spit settled on Johnny's face. Eyes wide, he watched his mother's fists pound on the enraged man's back doing nothing to distract him. It was Tocón who finally stopped it. Wrapping his large arms around Socorro's scrawny frame Tocón picked him up, shaking him like a dog would a fresh kill before throwing him across the room. Tocón, full of rage, came at Socorro again but Maria stepped between then and her soothing voice managed to calm Tocón as Socorro fled.

Water dripped from Johnny's dark hair into his eyes. He pushed it back, hands shaking. The memory of Socorro's savage beatings echoed in his head. He drew in repeated breaths without exhaling until his lungs could hold no more. His stomach burned with hatred for the vicious little man who took to carrying a knife from that day on.

Before he could regain composure Murdoch knocked and entered the small room. "Maria made some soup and cornbread. It's waiting for you in the kitchen." His face changed to concern after seeing his son drained of all color and gripping the sides of the tub. "Are you alright? You're not looking too good." He moved closer reaching out to touch his son. "Are you in pain?"

Flinching, Johnny closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing "I'm fine just not very hungry, maybe later."

"You don't need to convince me, Son, but Sam and Maria may feel differently and if I were you I don't think I'd want to argue with either of them, unless you're feeling lucky."

"Lucky?" Johnny scoffed. "No, can't say I'm feelin' lucky right about now."

Murdoch turned to leave, placing his hand on the latch. "You know, Johnny, I just want to say…" the words trapped in his throat before finally tumbling out "…I'm sorry." He walked out the door.

Why does everyone feel they have to go around saying they're sorry? It's not like this is their fault. Must admit, never expected those words out of his mouth; on the first day he told us we'd get no apology from him – his words - and now here he is sayin' sorry. The old man must be goin' soft.

Getting back on task he scrubbed himself clean then reluctantly pushed up from the still warm water and donned the clean clothes Teresa had thoughtfully remembered. Maybe he wasn't exactly unlucky. What was it mama always said? Sometimes it's the bad that gets ya to the good. As a boy he never could figure that out. What did one have to do with the other? The bad was always what someone did to ya and the good, well, you had to make your own good or it never happened.

Murdoch sat at the kitchen table, cup of coffee in hand. A bowl of soup and the hint of a smile welcomed his son. Maria nodded her approval from behind the stove "Bueno, Bueno mi muchacho." she said as Johnny took a seat.

"Boy doesn't take much to make people happy 'round here today." Gathering some of the golden broth onto his spoon he frowned as shaking hands sent it splashing back into the bowl. Instead he brought the bowl to his lips while resting both elbows securely on the table, aware of the fact that two sets of eyes were watching his every move. After a few sips his audience relaxed. Murdoch poured more coffee and Maria began to move about the kitchen. Words hung in the air as the two men sat across from each other. Johnny grabbed a piece of cornbread then slid the plate down the table towards his father. "Where's Scott?"

Murdoch grabbed a large piece and took a bite before nodding his approval. "He went to town with Sam. But might be gone a day or two; something about an errand."

The whisper of a smile flashed quickly across Johnny's face as he traced the squares of the tablecloth with his finger. "Thanks, Murdoch, I know we're short handed and I'm not pullin' my weight; maybe tomorrow I can…"

"Nonsense, Johnny, tomorrow you'll do what you feel up to… nothing more. There is something I do have in mind though, kind of doctor's orders."

Johnny continued to follow the pattern of the tablecloth and felt the muscles in his cheek tense.

Murdoch hedged, "Now, Johnny, I don't want to pressure you but Sam thinks we need to talk, just talk."

"Told ya before…"

"I heard you, better off not knowing. Well, I'm not buying. When is ignorance ever the answer?"

Johnny sat back and studied the older man's face. "You said you were sorry before. Why? What you got to be sorry for?"

Murdoch starred into the dark liquid in his cup and ran his finger around the rim. "I don't know, Johnny, sometimes I just think if I'd done things differently maybe your life would have turned out better. I look back at those years more often then I'd like, going over things again and again in my mind." Lost in the past he paused thoughtfully. "If only I'd paid more attention, didn't focus so much on the ranch. Maybe if I would have known something was wrong, something I could have fixed." For an instant the two men's eyes connected before Murdoch looked away. Johnny kept his eyes firmly fixed waiting for more. "She was beautiful, turned all the men's heads, and I think, at first, that's what drew me to her but what grew from that was love." He caught Johnny's gaze and continued. "I want you to know I loved your mother and until that morning I though she loved me."

"I'm grateful for that, Murdoch, I am. But can't say I put much stock in ifs and maybes."

I suppose you're right." Murdoch heaved a heavy sigh. "But…"

"I'm feelin' tired." That was enough. Trying to wrap is head around these things was not gonna work, not now. His eyes burned and the dull ache in his head told him he was losing the battle to stay awake. "Think I'll try to sleep." Johnny quickly pushed back from the table and turned to leave. His unbuttoned shirt opened and he felt his father's eyes settle on the scar. Without looking he pulled the shirt closed "You've seen it before."

"True, but then I didn't know where it came from. It must have been hard on you. I'm s…"

Johnny's raised his hand in protest "Don't need your pity. Who's to say what's hard or easy when ya only know one way. It's just how it is."

Scott was pleased. The Sheriff in Modesto replied quickly and confirmed Johnny's hunch. But a hunch it still remained, details were in short supply. Yes, there was a woman by the name of Perez operating the Sparks Saloon. No other information was forth coming.

He wasted no time getting started. Without rushing he would get to Modesto in two days time and if he started now he could put four hours behind him before dark. Four hours closer to someone familiar with his brother's childhood, an exhilarating prospect, for he knew no more about that part of Johnny's life now than he did three years ago when a dusty stranger squeezed next to him on the stage to Morro Coyo. Now memories of that day caused him to chuckle, but certainly not then. Not usually one to quickly judge a man's character, Scott did that day. What kind of man stops to consider handing over his firearm before boarding a stagecoach - certainly not a man of breeding? What kind of man roams through the wilderness carrying a saddle? He probably stole it from some poor unfortunate's dead horse. Hell by the looks of him maybe he killed the man and the poor horse. No, this was not the kind of man Scott Lancer could ever call friend and when he spoke up to the call of Mr. Lancer, the blonde was dismayed to say the least. If it's possible for skin to shrink he'd have sworn his had, suddenly it was no longer comfortable.

His opinion became more ensconced when they met Murdoch; the ice cold tone when he spoke, counting the money, the sardonic smile when they discussed strategy and the mention of listening money and gun money. No, there was nothing redeeming about this man whatsoever. Scott laughed again and shook his head. He could not remember a time he'd been more wrong and took no shame in admitting the error of his ways.

Scott's heart ached for this man he now called brother and friend. They'd been through some scrapes together but always managed to come out on top. But this time he wasn't so sure and it scared him. He'd not seen anything like this since he was held prisoner and watched men, strong men, men he admired, descend into an unseen abyss; their will to live stripped away until they hastened its end. Refusing to eat, futile escape attempts or taunting the guard dogs, their methods were all different but the end result the same. This would not be Johnny's fate. Never.

Approaching a stream, Scott dismounted and allowed his horse to drink. Shadows were lengthening but he still had about an hour of daylight left and was making good time. His palms were sweaty and his heart beat hard in his chest with the realization that this had to be Inez, if not what would they do? He pushed those thoughts back into the recesses of his mind. This had to be Inez. If it wasn't the trip back would be unimaginable.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Catalyst

Catalyst

Part 9

Late day sun still decorated the hallway but his room was dark and cool and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. A shiver rolled over his shoulders and he moved slowly to pull the window closed. He couldn't help but smile at the ways Teresa had kept herself busy. A plate of cookies sat on the bedside table and a dish of freshly cut lemons gave the room a pleasant scent. The bed was neatly made and turned down but was not as inviting as he and, no doubt, Teresa had hoped. The most welcoming site was his gun, still in pieces, resting atop the dresser. Taking two long strides he reached out; the cool smoothness brought him comfort as he picked up each piece with care. Sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands steadier now, he began to put his firearm back together; rubbing each piece gently with a chamois.

Bullets, he needed bullets and he began the search; not sure why, exactly. He wasn't planning on doin' himself in, that urge had settled and was part of the reason he had been avoiding sleep. He was so tired he didn't have the strength to consider puttin' an end to his life but feared once rested that desire would return and he had, after all, given his word to the good doctor. Teresa had been busier than he thought because the ammo usually kept in his top drawer was gone, as well as what he kept tucked beneath the mattress; even the small stash hidden in an old pair of boots – gone. He sat on the floor, back resting against the bed, and laughed quietly.

He was still in the floor when he woke, head resting on his knees, gun cradled in his arms, room dark. Light still slipped beneath the door, he figured he hadn't slept long, but wasn't sure. With a creak he opened the door; the soft sound of silverware meeting plate met his ears, but little in the way of conversation. Was it only Murdoch and Teresa or maybe Sam had returned, but they weren't talkin' and there was no way he'd go down to that silence just to be gawked at.

The need for more sleep made itself known. Watery eyes begged to be closed and his head felt heavy. He'd put it off long enough, another shiver; only this time, not from the cold. Maybe he should go brush Barranca. No, what he needed was sleep. Wasn't what he wanted, but it was what he needed. Stalling, he removed his boots and lined them up side by side next to the bed; he slid his pants over his hips and awkwardly folded them, usually they were kicked off with his boots to rest in a heap on the floor. This time he placed them on the seat of the chair. Attempts to fold his shirt proved pointless and instead it was draped over the chair back. "Just like Scott's room, neat and tidy," he said softly. Not words ever used to describe his he thought with a wry smile. Well that was it; he looked about the room hoping to find something else that needed doing; but - nothing. Only thing left was to slip between the covers.

He lay there, on his back, one hand tucked beneath his head and the other under his pillow, fingering his empty gun. The bed felt cold and hard, not the least bit welcoming, and the sheets itched somethin' fierce; like ants – he felt himself relax for a moment as he remembered talkin' 'bout ants and eyeballs to Scott that first morning. Boy, did Scott surprise him. Wanted to unnerve him with the one man deal comments, wanted to make him uncomfortable but the tall blonde refused to squirm. Yup, he had his brother figured all wrong.

There was no room for trust on those first few days, only hate – the same hate he'd lived with for years, tasted with every meal, swallowed with every shot of tequila, inhaled with every breath. He closed his eyes and moaned, thought he'd buried all that hate with the help of his family. Thought it was gone for good. That's why he'd finally put away his beads – didn't need them anymore. His beads – that's where he kept the hate and the anger and the pain; each one a promise for revenge. After his mama died that hate gnawed at him, growing stronger with each passing day until there was nothing left of Johnny Lancer only the hate and that hate had to come out somewhere - Madrid.

It was these thoughts of hatin' and revenge that sent him off to sleep and the nightmares they brought were the usual kind. He woke with a start but knew those faces, almost felt comfortable with them; he'd looked at them enough. The blood, it was always the blood that snapped him awake and it always took a few minutes to fully realize he was not actually covered with it. But deep down he knew he was, knew his soul was dripping in blood and no matter how much people loved him or how much he loved back it would never disappear, not completely. Oh, he tried but there was always something to remind him, always somethin' to pull it all crashin' back. And now it was back with a vengeance, and the blood this time was his mama's.

"Shit." he said as he rolled to his side. His fingers found the beads wrapped around his wrist. They'd been tucked away in a drawer for more than a year now, but as the panic inside him grew so grew his need. Needed to feel their coolness, needed to remember the hate each one held. And now he was the object of all that hate.

Knowing this kind of thinkin' couldn't be good; he tried to focus on his family but every thought of family brought him right back to where he started, right back to that dirty little village, right back to that day. It wasn't supposed to end like it did. Who wakes in the morning 'spectin' their whole life to be ripped from them by nightfall? It was his mama's birthday, or at least the day set aside. No one kept track of the numbers on a calendar but they knew what time of year it was and he imagined they came close enough.

At some point the line blurred and thoughts became dreams as he finally fell into a fitfull sleep. Tumbling head over heals, like being carried down a raging river he slammed into images, faces, memoires without time to fully comprehend one before being swept away to the next. He finally woke dripping in sweat, heart pounding franticly.

Scott woke before sunrise anxious to get underway. He drained the last of the coffee from the pot, not bothering to heat it, pulled a few sourdough biscuits from his saddlebag and figured he could have a meal fit for a king once he reached his destination. He'd put better than six hours behind him, travelling well past dark, and should be in Modesto by dinner.

It bothered him to be away from Johnny, but knew it would be no easier back at Lancer. At least he was doing something. For the past several weeks he'd watched as Johnny become more and more agitated; up and out before breakfast, returning long after dinner had been put away. There was no telling when he'd had a decent meal and as for sleep, well the dark circles under those blue eyes told the story of someone not sleeping much, if at all. Attempts to get him to talk were met with explosions of anger or earth shattering silence accompanied by that heart stopping stare. No, Scott did not envy Murdoch left trying to keep things together. At least Sam had promised to return to the house after checking on a few of his patients. Another pair of eyes and a calm head certainly couldn't hurt.

Allowing his mind to wander, he continued to press on; stopping a few times, only briefly, to water his horse and stretch his legs and aching back. At last he caught sight of the first few out laying buildings of Modesto and immediately every muscle tensed. So much was riding on this; he didn't see any room for error. He was so cocky when he'd told Murdoch he could be very persuasive but now he doubted himself. What if she really did refuse? What would he do then? He really wasn't sure, but he knew he was desperate, and hoped it didn't show. "Never a good plan to look desperate," he chuckled, realizing he spoke Johnny's words.

The Sparks Saloon wasn't hard to locate. It caught his eye immediately, at it would anyone's. Its golden color made it look as if sparks were flying off it, catching every ray of the afternoon sun. Very impressive, it had not been there the last time he'd come to town. Moving closer, the music and laughter were the next to attract his attention. Not the usual out of tune key-pounding, but real honest to goodness music. 'The Old Oaken Bucket', a song he'd heard many times as a boy. Not foot tapping dance music but it was still early.

He slid effortlessly from his horse and tied him to the rail before stepping back. Hands on his lower back, he looked the saloon over discovering the entire structure was made of sugar pine covered with a healthy coat of varnish making it look like a golden nugget. "Hmmm, not bad, not bad at all." he said before continuing inside. The place was busy, the tables full and there were a few well dressed gentlemen saddled up to the bar. The bar itself gleamed from hours of elbow grease and polish but what attracted him most was what lay behind. Not since Boston had he seen a finer assortment of liquor. His eyes came to rest on one particular bottle, Macallan scotch, a favorite not enjoyed since leaving Boston. It was not commonly known in the states, but there it was and he felt his mouth water.

The bartender kept his back to Scott but eyed him through the mirror as he wiped a glass with a cloth. Without saying a word he reached for the bottle, held it up as Scott gave a slight nod and poured out a healthy shot. Before setting it down he wiped the bar carefully then proudly placed the glass of deep mahogany liquid in front of his customer. Resting his gloves inside his hat and tucking it under his arm Scott picked up the glass, raising it in toast to the barkeep. "Thanks", he offered with a nod before taking the first tentative sip. Drawing in the smallest amount it rolled around on his tongue before sliding down the back of his throat. He enjoyed the lingering warmth and couldn't contain the broad grin as it stretched across his face. The resulting smile brought a knowing nod for the man behind the bar and Scott felt his entire body relax, a feeling of comfort settled over him like warmth from a fire.

Turning around he leaned his back heavily against the bar and took a look around, from this view it was a bar like any other. Nothing fancy, but then with scotch like this who needed fancy he thought as he took another sip. He wanted to sit down but every table was full and everyone was obviously having a good time. He watched as plates of steaming food passed by and the hunger he'd felt all day gave him a swift belly kick. Ready to order dinner he turned back to the bar and was surprised to see a woman staring back. Not your usual saloon girl; older – much older - and not made up, no fancy dress, her salt and pepper hair was long and straight.

"I see you like things slow and smooth, young man." Her tone and the way she looked him up and down indicated she may have been talking of more than his choice of beverage. He felt the heat of a blush travel across his cheeks. She smiled, "You do realize that there stuff you're drinking is sitting and sipping scotch not bar leaning scotch, right?"

"Yes Ma'am I'm well aware. But it appears you're full up." Grabbing the bottle she walked to a corner table, leaned low and spoke to the four card players. Without hesitation they gathered up their belongings and left through a door beneath the stairs. She took a seat and signaled for Scott to join her.

"This should do nicely, don't you think?" Her warm smile made him feel as if he were the only one in the room and brightened her dark eyes.

"Do you treat all your customers this well?" Scott asked as he sat in the newly vacated chair.

"Only the ones lookin' like they've had a particularly rough day and you fit the bill."

"That's not the half of it" he scoffed, watching her refill his glass. Taking another sip, he savored the smoky warmth realizing how little he'd slept these past few days. Sleeping on the ground was not something he'd ever get used to. He was partial to a soft bed and a pillow – definitely a pillow. How Johnny found pleasure in sleeping on the hard ground, saddle for his head was beyond him. Eyes fixed on his drink he began wondering what was going on back at Lancer, how Johnny was doing.

"You won't find any answers in the bottom of that glass, son. Here's your dinner, a good meal will fix you right up." Scott looked up as the bartender set a plate before him.

"I didn't order this," he protested half-heartedly.

"Now relax there young man. I'm very good at figuring what people need. And that there food is just one of the items on your list. Now eat up." She rose from her seat. "I'll be back, got a few other customers to tend to."

Scott watched as she stopped at each table refilling glasses, laughing or simply offering a gentle pat on the shoulder before heading up the stairs. He was angry with himself for not asking about Inez. Fairly certain this woman must be her, he'd been afraid to find out. At least this way he still had hope and food tasted a lot better when there was hope. He'd just finished the last of his stew and pushed his plate out of the way when she returned holding a steaming bowl. The smell was the first to reach him then as she set it before him he was stunned to see capirotada, the bread pudding Maria made for Johnny just the other morning. Was it one or two days ago? It was hard to tell since he hadn't seen his own bed for two nights now. In his entire life he'd never heard of it, much less eaten it, and now twice in two days it was set before him. He blinked staring into the bowl as the aroma filled his nose. He looked at the woman before him, "Inez?"

She sat down across from him looking puzzled "The name's Sparks, Sparks Perez. Didn't you see the sign out front?"

"Sparks can't be your real name. Your name is Inez. It has to be." He regretted the desperation in his voice.

"Now why would you be needing me to be this Inez woman? "

"It's a long story, but I believe you know my brother."

She leaned back in her chair and released a thoughtful sigh. "I know a lot of people's brothers. Think you could be a bit more specific."

He felt his heart race as he knew he was face to face with Johnny's past. "My name is Scott, Scott Lancer and my brother Johnny….you may have known him as Juanito….." How could he sound so desperate? He watched as her eyes narrowed and the smile she wore so easily vanished. Leaning forward she put her arms on the table studying him. It seemed like hours before she spoke but he knew it had only been a moment.

"I used to know a Jaunito a very long time ago; a lifetime ago." Her black eyes darkened with sadness as she pushed herself from the table "But I'm afraid it can not be your brother, he was a mestizo." She looked at Scott from head to toe "No, most certainly not your brother." And turned to leave.

Now his heart had leapt into his throat. He jumped from his chair sending it crashing backwards. "But that is my brother, my half brother he is… his mother was….Mexican!" Damn, there it was again, desperation. But he was desperate. She needed to understand. She needed to help. His little outburst silenced the piano and turned everyone's head. Inez stood frozen in place but did not turn around. She looked heavenward and made the sign of the cross. Finally Scott reached out to touch her arm. "Please, he needs your help."

She turned to face the tall blond and shook her head, tears pooled in her dark lashes. "How can it be? After all these years, how can it be he is not dead?"

Scott shook his head; he had no answer to that question. It was one he'd asked himself countless times. "I don't know. But he is very much alive; at least he was when I left."

Still holding her arm he guided her back to the chair and after picking up his, sat down. The noise in the saloon returned to a satisfying hum as they sat together in silence.

She signaled the bartender and he scurried over with a bottle of tequila and a glass then was dismissed by a wave of her hand. She poured her first shot and downed it quickly then did another. Her eyes no longer studied her customers for their next need, but were lost in the golden liquid.

Scott poured himself another scotch, tasted the capirotada and waited. Maybe it was the scotch or maybe because he was still hungry or maybe because it smelled delicious or maybe all three but before he realized he'd scraped the bowl clean. Inez watched him, the smallest hint of a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. "That was Juanito's favorite. It was always a joy to watch him eat it." She gathered up her long hair and brought it forward over her shoulder and between tequila shots worked it into a thick braid. Her voice softened "I don't understand how I could possibly help him. It's been years since I saw him last."

"That's exactly why. You knew him when his mother died. You were there. We need someone to tell him what happened, someone to tell him he's not to blame."

Inez studied his face showing little expression. "To blame? He was just a child."

"He doesn't remember, or at least he didn't. Now things are coming back to him in bits and pieces." Scott drew in a long agonizing breath. "He's convinced he did it; he's convinced he killed her. And if we don't prove otherwise I don't think he can live with that."

"This cannot be my Juanito. He was not weak." She threw back another shot.

Scott's jaw tightened "Johnny is not weak, but he is tired. The memories of that day are returning, mixed up, and right now he's lost all his fight." He drew in a shaking breath as he fought to keep his panic at bay. "I can't loose my brother. Do you understand? I can't loose my brother."

Inez reached out and covered his hand with hers. Her body radiated comfort, he felt himself relax almost immediately. "I understand your pain. I do. But I hardly think I can be of any help. I wasn't there, at least not when she died. I was only there to help pick up the pieces. Besides, have you talked to your brother? Asked him if he wants me there? I think if you did he would not say yes."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Catalyst

Catalyst

Part 10

Scott fell back in his chair as if he'd been pushed. Hell, he had, the words Inez spoke pressed hard against his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He'd never considered the possibility. "Why wouldn't he want to see you?"

"Oh, I'd say he'd have his reasons," Inez said. She studied the young man's face and his disbelieving gaze; her hand still covering his.

Made uncomfortable by her penetrating stare Scott looked down noticing her hand, no longer feeling the comfort of her gentle touch he pulled back "And what would those reasons be, exactly?" Searching her eyes for some hint, he saw none.

"Not sure that's my story to tell. Just thought you needed to know things might not turn out as you expect; is all. Things rarely do."

"But you'll come? You'll try? I really don't think you could make things any worse."

Inez shot him a wary glance; escorted by a disquieting chuckle "I'd be careful there, son. Things can always get worse." In an instant the confident woman before him seemed to wilt, shoulders slumped, facial lines deepened and her dark eyes lost their fire. The look told Scott this woman was all too familiar with things going from bad to worse. And the thought sent a shiver right through him. "I really don't think your plan has much merit. What good is there in digging up memories better left buried, memories your brother has struggled to escape from all his life? I fail to see how this could possibly be a good thing."

"You haven't seen him; you don't know what this is doing to him. The brother I know is disappearing before my eyes." Damn there he was sounding desperate again. "If Johnny's going to walk away from this he needs to know the truth and you are the closest thing to the truth we have."

"Truth? No one wants the truth. Lies can be so much more comforting."

"I would give anything not to learn about the dark places in my brother's life but I'm afraid that is the only way."

"See? I told you, no one wants truth. You don't even know a lie when it spills from your own mouth. You're dying to know the details of your brother's life. You cling to any word he offers of his past like it's a priceless gem. And that is supposed to help? I think not. You can count me out."

"I think your being unfair. I don't need to hear of each vile event. I know the outcome and believe me that is enough."

"Outcome? From where I sit he has it pretty good, big ranch, family. That's a mighty fine outcome in my book."

"No, before that. When the Pinkerton agent found him he was moments away from being executed in Mexico and before that, before that…"

"Yes, yes spit it out boy."

"I'm sure you've heard of Johnny Madrid."

"Of course, the gunfighter… you mean… but that's… Dios Juanito."

Standing, she smoothed the front of her skirt and stood as tall as her five foot frame would allow. "Excuse me but I have other customers. You can be on your way in the morning; dinner and drinks are on the house. If you think I'm going to show my face to the likes of Johnny Madrid after what I did you are crazier than he is. Good night."

He watched in disbelief as she made her way up the stairs and turned the corner, out of sight.

Scott's initial meeting with Inez had not come close to what he'd hoped; it brought no answers - only more questions - and he now seriously doubted if he had done the right thing by coming here. Lying in bed, he turned the evening's conversation over and over in his mind to the point where he thought he'd never fall asleep; instead, the next thing he knew someone stood over him "Planning to sleep past lunch?"

Bolting upright he wiped the sleep from his eyes, it took a moment to recognize the plump figure before him, dressed in jeans and a loose fitting shirt, he thought it was a man, but the voice finally penetrated his foggy brain and he realized it was Inez. "Lunch," he answered wearily. "It's still dark out."

She moved methodically about the room, lighting the lamp then gathering Scott's socks, pants and shirt tossing each item at him, one by one, ending with his boots coming at him as a pair, hitting him squarely in the chest.

"Get dressed. Breakfast's ready." She stood, watching. "What are you waiting for?" She clapped her hands together in annoyance. "Let's go."

"Do you mind?" Scott motioned for Inez to turn around as he lifted the sheet.

"You got something so special I should be paying to see it?" Inez fumed as she spun on her heels.

Embarrassment burned his cheeks and confusion niggled at his brain. Why was she here? Last night she'd made it abundantly clear she would not be coming yet here she was. He needed to speak but couldn't bring himself to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. "How early does the stage leave?" he asked while pulling on his pants.

"Stage? Hate the damn thing, only thing going by stage is my trunk and I hauled that over last night. At the rate you're going it just might beat us and it doesn't leave until this afternoon." She walked out the door, glancing over her shoulder. "You coming?"

"Yes Ma'am." Eyes skimming the room Scott gathered up the last of his gear and hopped out the door, tugging on his second boot.

All through breakfast Scott kept waiting for the cruel joke to be played and Inez would reveal she had no intentions of going with him. They shared ham, eggs and coffee, lots of coffee while Inez was on the move, never fast but constant. She'd sit a spell, eating a bit then, remembering one more job for the poor beleaguered barkeep, Boyd. She would rise from her chair and amble about, pointing out the need for more cheese and sugar or reminding him of the liquor delivery arriving in two days. Scott had heard that reminder four times already and could only imagine how many more times poor Boyd had heard it. Settling into her chair one more time she muttered "Been here nearly a year now, never left him alone for more than an hour or two. This is gonna be harder than I thought."

"He seems quite capable, very attentive. You've trained him well." Scott offered the man a nod.

The compliment brought a hint of pink to her cheek. Scott surmised making this woman blush was no easy task. "That may be so, but I do want this place still standing when I return," she said, loud enough for Boyd to hear.

"With all due respect, I'd be more nervous about hitting the trail with a complete stranger and after what you said last night meeting up with Johnny Madrid."

She considered Scott's words with the slightest trace of a smile and a shake of the head. "I've got nothing to fear from you, Mr. Lancer. First off, I'm old enough to be your mother and even on my best day was never pretty enough for the likes of you; so if you were looking to sample some of this fine figure I'm thinkin' I'd enjoy the experience a tad more than you. Second I won't be carrying anything of value so there'll be nothing to steal and third I haven't survived this long on my own without a few tricks up my sleeve. So as you can see I'm much more nervous about leaving this here saloon. It's the only thing I have to lose."

He felt the color rise in his cheeks; she'd managed to do it again. This woman certainly spoke her mind and Scott couldn't help but like her. He only wished he still felt as sure about Johnny. "My name is Scott, no more Mr. Lancer; you can save that for my father."

"As for the second part of your question, Mr. Lancer, I figure I owe Juanito the chance to tell me where to get off. After all I may be partly responsible for his choice of career."

Murdoch woke just before dawn. Dreams interrupted his sleep. At least they started off as dreams, innocent enough. Johnny was small and they were playing hide and seek, something they'd done many times. The child giggled at being found buried beneath the mound of fresh hay in the barn. The large man and small child rolled about, scattering the hay as they laughed. "Play 'gen", the boy pleaded. "Play 'gen". The tug of work couldn't compete with that sweet face and those brilliant blue eyes. The boy jumped around excitedly as his father hid his eyes and began to count again…"Twenty… here I come!" The child's laughter sent him towards the door as he searched behind hay bales and in barrels – nothing. More laughter, this time outside, he looked behind the water trough – nothing, the courtyard wall - no. Laughter again, this time from inside the house; the open door revealed corridors leading off like spokes of a wheel. Laughter floated from every direction, closed doors lined each passage. Opening door after door brought no sign of the treasure he sought. Concern grew to alarm replaced by panic. He ran from one end of the house to other.

"Johnny!" His own shout woke him. His eyes flew open and his heart ached, exactly as it did that day. The day his world caved in, the day Maria left and took their precious son. The need to see Johnny, the son that had finally found his way home, catapulted him from bed; to the room across the hall. Opening the door, his eyes settled on the crumpled sheets of an empty bed. The dream's panic still fresh caused the distraught father to erupt into a cold sweat as he raced downstairs looking in the great room, kitchen, outhouse – no Johnny. The pounding of his frantic heart filled his chest and echoed in his ears as he continued the search.

In the barn, relief quickly cooled the scorching panic, Johnny stood leaning against Barranca's stall. Soft light from the lantern accentuated dark circles beneath his eyes and the glint of his drawn gun. Breathless, Murdoch bent, placing his hands on his knees trying to recover some composure. Between gasps for air his words came out in jagged bits "I – thought - you were – gone - Johnny. I thought…"

"Nope, I'm still here. Not plannin' on going anywhere just yet, Murdoch. Needed a few things out here, is all." Johnny's voice sounded kind of odd but he couldn't put his finger on how, exactly.

He eyed his son carefully. "Couldn't sleep?"

Dipping his head Johnny took a few steps toward his father, his response slow and drawn out. "Oh… I slept a bit."

He looked up and the light caught a flash in his eyes and… could that be… the start of a smile, turning up the corners of his mouth? Then the unmistakable sound of laughter emanated from the young man. Baffled, Murdoch looked about and caught sight of his shadow stretched across the wall; suddenly realizing he was still in his nightshirt and bare feet, hair standing on end. Reaching up, he forked his fingers through knotted hair, a useless effort, as it continued to poke every which way. "I'm glad you think this is so funny," he said, attempting to contain his own laughter but it was too late. Belly shaking, a hearty chortle was not far behind. "Guess I am a bit of a mess." The joy of hearing his son's laughter brought forth more cheer.

"You sure are, and you'll catch your death of cold if you're not careful." Murdoch watched, Johnny continued his frivolity as he slid his gun back into the waistband of his pants.

"Well, you should talk, young man. Where are your shirt and boots?"

The laughter slowed slightly but continued to trickle out. "At least I had the good sense to put on pants, old man, and not run around lettin' the cold air touch where the sun don't shine."

"True, now that you mention it, I do feel a bit of a draft." The older man tugged on his nightshirt trying to pull it below his knees, while wishing this moment could last. He'd missed that sound, the sound of his son's laughter, always so infectious. How long had it been? It seemed a lifetime. "It's good to hear you laugh son. I've missed it."

"I know, Murdoch, me too." And with that, the laughter vanished as quickly as it had begun. Johnny leaned his shoulder against a column, the sparkle gone from his blue eyes. "I'm sorry I've been a bit difficult lately."

"You? Difficult? No, that's not the boy I know." Murdoch tried to keep the mood light but was fully aware the moment had passed. Awkwardness settled on the pair. "It's cold, let's go inside, Son." He wished the words did not sound so forced.

Johnny nodded "I'll be right in."

Murdoch reached out to his son, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Anything that needs doing can wait. I'm sure Maria has some coffee ready and that would taste fine right about now. Don't you think?"

"Sure." Johnny shrugged as they walked out together.

"I must say, Johnny, not sure how smart it is to be waving around an empty gun like you did. Seems to me you're just asking for trouble."

"You must think I'm a damned fool, Murdoch. Who says it's empty?"

"Well, I knew Teresa…"

"I've got more than a few hidin' spots. Old habits die hard ya know."

"Guess I underestimated you."

"Yeah, well that's nothing new." Johnny's words stung. Had he always given his youngest that impression? If so it was never intentional… was it?

"You know," Johnny's words interrupted his thoughts, "I was thinkin' 'bout checking the fence line in the north pasture today."

"Good idea, we'll be moving the heard over in about a week and it hasn't been checked for a while." Murdoch wanted more than anything to go with his son. He didn't want Johnny riding off alone, but feared his offer to help would be misconstrued. Was he underestimating him again?"

"Murdoch?"

"Huh, I'm sorry Johnny. What?"

"I said; do you want to ride along?"

Murdoch couldn't help but smile. The offer warmed him more than the anticipated coffee. "Thanks, Johnny, I'd like that." Was this how it should be? How it should have always been? He sighed heavily, grateful that he'd found his son and they laughed together in the barn just like they had all those years ago. Was it too much to hope that the worst was over?

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Catalyst

Catalyst

Part 11

With only a half hour behind them, Scott already found Inez's silence grating. His mood grew more and more foul with each irritating swing of her braid and his head ached from the overload of thoughts and questions each vying for attention. He waited anxiously for the sun, hoping it would brighten his spirits and spark conversation.

The sun rose and the silence continued. Scott would allow Inez to pull ahead slightly, watch her, then catch up. She looked comfortable in the saddle; no stranger to riding the trail. It seemed she didn't have a care in the world, but how could that be? She was on her way to meet Johnny Madrid, a man still haunted by a life she claims to have helped create. The least she could do is offer up one sliver of information after her bold declaration.

It became clear; any conversation would have to start with him. But start where? He wanted to know about Johnny but didn't she already know that? He wanted to come right out and ask but she seemed to have a knack for not answering a question as expected. He needed to play her game, find a backdoor, something that would lead to Johnny. "That was a tasty dessert you served last night. I enjoyed it immensely."

Silence. Inez pulled ahead of him. Scott pushed his mount to catch up and continued, "Had it twice in one week. Can't say I ever had it before. No, they don't serve that in Boston."

More silence. Her eyes remained forward, her seat still relaxed.

"Dare say though, our housekeeper's was a tad bit better than yours." She stiffened then stopped, and eyed the young man with skepticism. "I hardly think that's possible, Mr. Lancer. I've been told mine is the best around, by more than a few, mind you." She pulled ahead again then turned back "You do realize insulting my cooking is not the way to get me to talk."

"It wasn't exactly an insult, and it's Scott, Ma'am." He offered a sheepish grin. "So you say it was Johnny's favorite?"

An easy smile returned to her face and she relaxed again in her saddle. "You don't know much about your brother do you?"

"No, Ma'am can't say that I do. Talking about his past doesn't come easy."

"Can you blame him? I'm sure you have some dark moments in your life you would rather not relive."

Scott thought back to his time at Libby and the war. They were definitely not moments he cared to see again, not in nightmares or idle conversation, but as bad as it was, only a small part of his life was stolen. While the experience had certainly changed him it did not define him. "Indeed I do, but that was different. I'd known good things, known happiness and it was those memories that allowed me to have hope. I could close my eyes and be back in Boston celebrating Christmas or recall a book I'd read, word for word. Johnny knew nothing of hope; that I can tell. How do you live a life without hope? And once you make it to the other side of that darkness, do you not want to share your victory? He should be proud off all he's accomplished."

Inez clapped her hands enthusiastically "My, my, that's quite a speech. Appears you've given this a lot of thought. Guilt will do that to you. Very noble of you to feel guilty for something you didn't have a hand in. Does it make you feel better?" Her tone was bitter and caused Scott to flinch.

It was Scott's turn to pull ahead now. Guilty, he didn't exactly feel guilty; did he? If not guilt what was it, pity? God, that was worse. Growing defensive Scott returned to Inez's side. "What if I do feel guilty? What's wrong with that? I had so much, growing up, wanted for little and Johnny… what did he have? A mother that lied to him, people who hated him; my God they tried to kill him. I do feel guilty, wish I'd known - wish I could have helped. But I know one thing…I'm going to help him now. We - are going to help him now."

"You have some high expectations of me, unfounded I fear. I'm still a bit confused as to how I'm supposed to solve all your problems."

"Ma'am, I think you need to talk to me. You need to tell me why Johnny might not be pleased to see you. You need to tell me how you think you could possibly lay claim to the creation of Madrid."

"Now wait a minute there, buster, in all fairness, I never said I created him. I just may have given him… a little push is all. No one made decisions for Juanito, not then, and I imagine, not now."

Scott couldn't help but laugh. "You are correct about that, Ma'am."

"Of course I am." She brought her horse nose to nose with Scott's. "Look, all I can give you is my story. I'm not a young woman, so its, as they say, a long one. Take it or leave it, makes no difference to me."

Scott sighed heavily, not exactly what he was after but it was a start. "It appears we have a plenty of time." He raised his outstretched hand gesturing toward the horizon. "We have a long ways to go and I usually enjoy a good yarn while traveling."

Inez released a long low chuckle and shook her head "It's funny how things turn out; never exactly like you plan." She winked at the young man as if she knew her offer disappointed her audience. "My life was supposed to be easy, my family had money, more than I'd ever need; but I didn't walk down the path they laid out. Came from Tampico, was the main port of the northeast region since '23 and my family ran the show." She looked wistful as she spoke; longing, maybe, for the life she'd left behind.

"Why would you leave that? What young woman would trade high living for border towns? It makes no sense."

"Oh, it made sense. I liked it there well enough, but I loved Tocón, my brother. He had an accident as a boy, hit in the head, until then he was just like any other little brother but after - he became a bit… umm… empty-headed. His thinking never caught up with rest of him. The bigger and stronger he got the more he scared people and my family decided he wasn't worth the trouble, just wanted to be rid of him. A man from the docks offered to take him off their hands." She paused, her expression never changed, only the slight slouch in her posture revealed the weight of the memory. "He was my brother and I loved him. I couldn't pretend, like everyone else, that he never existed. I defied my family and went to see him and what I saw made me sick. He'd been whipped, was filthy and left chained to a wall like a dog. He wept when he saw me, begged me to take him home." Her seat shifted and she sat upright and proud. "I did what I had to do. I got him out of there and we never looked back."

That was all she said for a very long time. Scott didn't press; he let Inez ride ahead of him figuring she might want to be alone. He was confident she understood how he felt; he too would do anything for his little brother.

She reached the top of a hill and brought her horse to a stop; stretching her legs, she rose out of her saddle just before a broad smile spread across her face. Taking Scott by surprise, she spurred her mount and took off at full gallop, over the crest. By the time he caught up to her she had dismounted and was sitting beneath a large tree looking rather pleased with herself. "Don't know about you but I need a break. Guess I'm not as young as I used to be."

"You can have a few minutes but I'd really like to keep going. Don't have the luxury of time ma'am; we ride slower with all this talk."

"You want I should stop talking?

"Well, to be honest, while I'm sure your life is interesting, it is not why we are here; and you know that."

"Suit yourself. I'll just shut up. But, right now, I'm hungry and the horses could use a rest and you, young man, you have begun to annoy me." She stood and began pulling items from her overstuffed saddlebags. "I suggest you water the horses while I prepare lunch."

Scott sighed heavily, placing his fists on his hips "I'm annoying you? Well I think you've got that all wrong ma'am." He called over his shoulder as he led the horses to the stream. "Remember, we don't have all day." To think, he actually thought he liked her. Annoying? He'd been a perfect gentleman. How dare she? All he wanted to do was get back, figured once there he'd probably wish he was still on the road but that was beside the point. Been riding all morning and he knew nothing more about Johnny than he did before he left Lancer. How can a woman talk so much and say so little? It was infuriating. His own thoughts were so loud he did not hear Inez as she moved closer.

Placing a hand on Scott's shoulder, she startled him. "I'm sorry." Her tone missed the mark, sounded forced. "Get a little ornery when I'm hungry." She relaxed a little as she continued "Don't get a figure like this by missing any meals." She turned her body from side to side with a coquettish wink.

Scott couldn't help but smile. She did know her shortcomings. Maybe he did like her after all.

She had packed slices of roast chicken and fresh bread along with some tangy pickles that went a long way in cleansing the throat of the flavor of trail dust. Their conversations revolved around food and drink, travel, the weather and anything but the discussion of family.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Before heeding the call of the coffee's rich aroma Johnny and Murdoch deemed it wise to dress before invading Maria's domain.

Both men entered the kitchen with a single purpose… coffee. Empty cups waited by the pot and Murdoch filled two, passing one to his son. The older man blew on the steaming beverage before taking his first long awaited sip. "Ah, gracias, Maria," he said before turning toward Johnny. "We aren't going to push ourselves today. What gets done gets done. Do I make myself clear?"

Johnny took a sip of the strong brew. It did not taste nearly as good as it smelled. "It's your tune."

"And don't you forget it, young man." A smile hid in the older man's words.

Thick slabs of ham, biscuits and eggs were set on the table. Murdoch sat and ate hungrily. "Better eat," he said pushing more onto his fork with a biscuit.

Johnny's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the eggs "think I'll pass on those." He grabbed a slice of meat and wrapped it around a biscuit. "This'll do," he said as he restlessly paced around the kitchen.

Sopping up the last of the egg with another biscuit Murdoch stood and cleared his throat, catching Maria's eye. "Wrap some for us to take, por favor. It'll make a good lunch." He shook his head as he watched Johnny walk away leaving half his breakfast uneaten.

Bleary eyed, Sam entered the great room as the two men passed through. "You two have plans I should know about?"

"Work. This here is a ranch ya know." Johnny's words attempted to be playful but that's not how they came out.

"Ah, yes I am aware of that fact. Well then, since it appears I'm not needed, think I'll head over to the Clark's after breakfast, and see how little Emma's arm is doing after she fell from that tree. Will you be all right Johnny?"

"In case you can't tell, I'm just fine Doc." He offered a smile that was less than wholehearted.

"Well, that's good to hear, but by the looks of you I'd say that's not entirely true. I'll be back this afternoon for a second opinion."

Johnny grabbed his hat off the rack, repositioning it several times on his head before finding a satisfactory position. "If you got nothing better to do, guess I can't stop ya." Turning to Murdoch he nodded to the door. "Let's go."

A comfortable silence settled over the two men as they relaxed into an easy trot while enjoying the warm sun and cool breeze. Once they reached the fence they began marking off 100 yard sections. One would dismount and check the tautness of the wire and stability of the posts, while the other made note of the findings. It was a tedious task, generally there were about thirty posts per section and each one needed a tug, kick or shove.

"It's not looking too bad, Murdoch. Thought with all the storms this winter we'd have a lot more work." Moving his hat lower over his eyes Johnny squinted as he spoke.

"Sometimes things work out in our favor." The older man was pensive for a moment then continued "Like finding you this morning. I can't remember the last time we went out like this and I want to…"

Johnny interrupted "You want to tell me what you were you doing in the barn this morning lookin' like you did, right?"

"It's a little embarrassing, but if you must know I was having a dream."

Giving the fence post a solid kick the young man moved to the next one. "Dreams don't send ya runnin' into the night, sounds more like a nightmare. Maybe you should start wearing a cowbell to bed, might save your life if you plan on making sneakin' up on me a habit."

"It didn't start a nightmare, started with me and you playing hide and seek in the barn. Do you remember that, Johnny?"

"Can't say that I do." He answered without looking up but instead tugged on the wire checking its tension. "Section 15 looks good."

"Got it." Murdoch studied the paper, carefully jotting down the information. "Didn't expect you would, but they were good times." Folding the sheet in half he slid it back into his vest pocket and looked at Johnny. His voice softened as he recounted the rest of the dream. "It ended, with the day you and your mother left. Guess I got a little carried away when you weren't in your bed."

Placing his foot in the stirrup Johnny swung his leg over Barranca, he leaned forward to stretch his back and looked intently at his father. "That must have been tough, waking and finding us gone; never really thought about it before. When I was little I always imagined you had a big party."

"A party? That would have been pretty cold."

"Yeah well, that's what I thought. Mama always made sure I knew my place with you, made me swear to never go looking."

"And did you? Swear that is."

"Did. But when she was dyin' I told her I wasn't sure I could keep that promise. Think I was tryin' to rile her, make her hit me, anything to give her the fire to stick around." The words flew out of his mouth, easy; like they'd been said a hundred times before but, how could they? He didn't remember his mama dyin' only knew she was dead. Only knew he held the knife. Only knew he was covered in her blood. "Shit."

"Johnny?" Murdoch reached over and placed a hand on Johnny's back. "Johnny, what did you say?"

Why now, why with him. Breaths came faster, harder; he couldn't get enough air. Sitting straight in the saddle he struggled to greedily suck in more, trying to fill his lungs. Shit, the old man's watching, waiting, wondering. His heart beat loudly between his ears, thump-thump, thump-thump. Why wasn't it in his chest where it belonged? Murdoch's mouth was moving. Looked like he said Johnny but it was slow… drawn out and couldn't compete with the sound of his beating heart. Squeezing his eyes shut he fought to gain control of the flood of emotions threatening to rip him apart. He pressed off the saddle and planted both feet firmly on the ground, bent and planted both hands firmly on his knees. His father was bending beside him now. One hand on his back the other on his shoulder, concern furrowed the old man's brow, his mouth was moving but the only sound Johnny heard was his own beating heart.

Hands to his face he tried rubbing away the images that flashed before his eyes while concentrating on slowing his breaths. He inhaled and forced himself to hold it; then slowly let it go, again… and again… once more… there, his heart slipped back to where it belonged, his chest relaxed, his father's words reached his ears. "John, you ok? Relax, I'm right here."

Unsteady legs carried him to a fence post, where he leaned for support. "Dios, Murdoch. I'm sorry." The sound of his shaky voice caught him off guard and he ran a finger along the wire, catching it on a barb. He watched as a small drop of blood pooled on his fingertip before sliding off, landing on the toe of his boot.

"Sorry? Why are you sorry? Johnny?" His father placed a hand on his shoulder. "None of this is your fault."

"Not my fault? Shit, this is all my fault, and it hurts like hell." Moving down the length of stretched wire Johnny placed a hand over a protruding barb, pressing with all his weight he smiled as the sharp metal tore into his flesh.

"It was me, I killed mama. It was her birthday and I stole a chicken for dinner, thought it would be ok. She'd been sick, hadn't brought in any money and I thought it would make her feel better. When she saw the dead bird she went crazy mad, started hitting me. I still held the knife in my hand." He pressed harder on the wire, begging for more of the pain to distract his mind from the unbearable pain in his heart; his blood dripped into the dirt.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Catalyst

Catalyst

Part 12

By Cobalt Jan

Unconsciously, Murdoch ran his fingers through his hair, knocking his hat to the ground. He staggered backwards staring at the upturned hat, as if wondering how it got there. Finally, regaining some semblance of normality he bent to pick it up. It was only then that he noticed the blood, dripping. Following its path upward, his eyes widened when he realized where it was coming from.

"Johnny! What the hell are you doing?" he bellowed, causing the young man to flinch.

Soft words slipped through clenched teeth, "Please, Murdoch, just leave me be. I'm alright."

"Alright? No, Johnny, you're far from alright. For God's sake, let go!"

Reaching out, Murdoch tried to grab hold of his wrist but Johnny shifted his weight blocking the attempt. The movement sent the razor sharp metal deeper. The agony liberated Johnny from the pain building in his heart; the pain that threatened to rip him apart. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"It's not what you think, Murdoch."

"You couldn't possibly know what I'm thinking!" he barked. "Hell, I don't know what I'm thinking."

"I'll leave, Murdoch, as soon as we get back I'll pack my gear and I'll leave. I don't belong here."

Sighing heavily Murdoch calmed, speaking slower, more deliberate. "You'll do no such thing, young man."

Beaten down by a wave of exhaustion, Johnny leaned forward resting his head and forearm on the fence. He heard no comfort, only words. Words were easy, it took no special skill to speak them; spittin' out things you don't really mean just 'cuz you think you should. It was the eyes that would reveal the truth, show the hate. Hiding what lay buried there took a special skill, requiring years of practice. Hell, he should know.

Murdoch placed strong hands firmly on the young man's trembling shoulders. Johnny found comfort in the weight of those large hands. Slowly he released his hold on the wire, twisting his hand free from the embedded metal. He leaned back, desperately seeking the strength emanating from the man behind him.

"It's ok Son, you're exactly where you belong." Could it be possible? Could he have been wrong? Knowing what a man would do next; that's what kept him alive. Murdoch should be pushing away, not holding tight. The words rang true but Johnny had no intention of looking into those eyes. He couldn't bear to see the truth. Closing his eyes, he relaxed into those powerful arms as they wrapped around him, filling him with a sense of peace. This was good. Guess the truth didn't matter.

The peace was broken by a firm command. "We need to stop the bleeding. Sit over here." Murdoch led him to a cluster of rocks, keeping a supporting arm firmly wrapped around his son. Once Johnny was seated, Murdoch began digging through the saddle bags for supplies. He found the clean cloths and bandages Teresa always made sure they had, 'just in case'. "Thank you Teresa," Murdoch muttered. "I'd say she knows us well, don't you think?" he said loudly, casting a quick glance towards his son.

There was no reaction; Johnny sat examining the wound, opening and closing his fist, mesmerized by the blood as it oozed through clenched fingers. Without looking up he asked, "Why did you say I belonged, how could I after what I did?"

Moving quickly, Murdoch grabbed the canteens from both horses, focusing on his task, remaining silent. He folded his large frame and sat close to his son. "Give me that hand." Sucking air in through pursed lips he said, "This doesn't look good."

Johnny studied his father's face, ready to see how he really felt but he never looked up, never made eye contact. He cleaned the wound with water from the canteen, pressed the cloth firmly in place then wrapped it tightly with bandages. "I think you might need stitches; that's a tricky spot. We'd better get you back home and have Sam get a look at it."

Johnny leaned to one side, propped up on the elbow of his injured hand. "Mind if we sit a spell, feelin' kinda tired."

"I suppose we could as long as you keep that hand elevated. That should slow the bleeding." Murdoch carefully repositioned himself and his son, pulling him in close. "There that's better. Comfortable?"

Johnny nodded. "You never answered my question."

"And what question was that, Johnny?"

"How can you say I belong here after what I did?"

Murdoch said nothing.

Johnny waited, knowing in his heart the silence meant only one thing. "I ain't no coward, Murdoch, if it's hate you're feelin' then you better tell me now, I can take it. Hell, dealin' with hate's somethin' I've done all my life. Why should this be any different?"

"I don't hate you, Johnny. I could never hate you. But I'm also not sure how to take what you're telling me. I loved your mother and it would hurt deeply if I thought for one minute you really killed her but… I don't. I think for whatever reason, you're mixed up. Not sure why, but I don't think you're seeing things right."

"But what if I'm not wrong, what then?"

"I know what kind of man you are, son, and that man would only do such a thing if he were backed into a corner and I have to believe you were the same as a boy."

Both men sat quietly for a while. "Johnny?"

"Hmmmm" his response was soft, half asleep.

"Never mind, you rest."

"No. What?" As much as he needed to sleep he needed this more, safe in his father's arms. Is this what he missed? Is this what it was like to have a father?

"I couldn't help but notice… you're wearing your beads again. Haven't seen them for a long time. Is there a reason?"

Johnny's voice took on a child-like quality "They're supposed to help, supposed to be a place to put all the bad stuff, supposed to keep me calm." He chuckled "Not workin' too good I'm afraid."

"No, I guess not."

Neither man spoke. Johnny's head rested on his father's barrel chest, listening to the gentle rhythm of his beating heart.

Hesitantly, Murdoch spoke again. "Would you tell me about them?"

Feeling his father's gaze Johnny lifted his head. What lay in those eyes was not the hate he had expected, but something very different, something completely unexpected and at that moment he would have told his father anything. A hint of a smile parted his lips and he nodded. "Sure."

Johnny sat up and pulled his knees in close; resting his arms on them he dropped his head with a sigh. Instinctively his hand went to the beads that decorated his wrist. "It was after Mama died, after they dragged me from those damned bushes." He drew in a long shuddering breath. "Dios Murdoch this is hard. Never said it out loud before. "

"You don't have to, Son."

The reassuring hand placed on Johnny's shoulder gave him the fortitude to continue. "When it was over I was in bad shape; out of it for a really long time. Eventually most everything healed up, but, my busted hand and my hatin' heart. Inez fretted something fierce that my fingers would never work and that I'd kill or be killed by the first person to look at me cockeyed. So she decided I needed somethin', somethin' that would take care of both."

"You were lucky to have her, Johnny; she took good care of you," Murdoch said as he shifted his position with a grunt. "Damn back."

"Yeah, probably would be dead if not for her. Guess I owe her for that." Johnny whistled softly and Barranca moved closer. He reached up and tugged on the dangling sleeve of his jacket until it fell free. "Here," he said, passing it to his father, "put it behind your back."

Murdoch took it willingly, "Thank you." he said tucking it between his back and the rock with a pleasing ah. "So, it was Inez who gave you the beads?"

"She didn't give them exactly. She cut up the beads she had and made me string them to get my fingers working again. I tell you it was quite a site, me and Tocón picking up these tiny things. Tocón had fingers as big as you." A brilliant smile flickered across his face. She said I needed to think of everyone I hated, everything that made me mad with each bead. 'Put it all right here and don't let it turn your heart to stone. Hate'll destroy you if you don't.' I hated these damn beads, I hated you, I hated every man that ever touched Mama, hell I even hated Mama and every bit of that hate went right in here and that's where it stayed… for a while."

Murdoch smiled "It sounds like this Inez woman knew exactly what you needed."

JMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJML

The remainder of Inez and Scott's afternoon was spent in relative silence, a few idol comments about unimportant things, nothing more. Scott regretted his little outburst, wished he hadn't suggested Inez shut up. But he had and now he'd just wait her out.

Not until they made camp did any meaningful conversation begin. The usual drab fare of beans was made unexpectedly delicious by Inez's additions; some flavorful dried sausage, a freshly chopped onion and a small fiery pepper added just enough heat. Fat slices of a sweet pound cake finished the meal and they both sat back, satisfied smiles decorating their faces. The final touch came when Inez dangled a large silver flask from her fingers. "Scotch?" she asked with a devilish grin.

"I think I could be persuaded." Scott flung the dregs of his coffee into the fire and passed her his cup, watching as she poured generously. With his first sip came the courage to jump right in with a question. "I take it you had no idea what became of Johnny. You knew nothing of Madrid?" he asked.

"I'd certainly heard of the man, Mr. Lancer. I wasn't living in a hole somewhere. But I never met him and had no cause to believe he was…" she paused and took several long swigs from the flask, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.

"Excuse me but, you do realize that there stuff you're drinking is sitting and sipping scotch, not guzzling scotch, right?" He grinned knowing she would recognize her own words.

Inez shot him a menacing glare followed by a heartwarming smile. "Glad to hear you were paying attention, Mr. Lancer."

"So, when was the last time you saw Johnny?" Scott watched as her face darkened, the fire's flames no longer reflecting in her down cast eyes. He knew he'd struck a nerve, hoped it would lead to some helpful information.

"You won't think much of me, I'm afraid, but the last time I saw Juanito he was eleven, almost twelve. It was December of '62. He'd been with us over one and a half years and I'd like to think he was happy for most of 'em. Course it took awhile for him to recover from his injuries but we got him through."

"We? You and your brother?"

"Yes, pity he's not here now, he'd be able to help Juanito. They always seemed to know what the other needed."

"They were friends?"

"Oh, I think what they had went beyond friendship. Both your brother and Maria were kind to Tocón, treated him like he was regular folk and in return he protected them." She hesitated slightly then added with a sigh. "Did the best that he could, stopped that dreadful horse the day Maria died."

"Yes, we just heard about that. Guess I owe both you and your brother a debt of gratitude."

"Your brother, he does keep things under his hat. That one's a little obvious what with that scar running down his side."

"Johnny has more than a few scars, Ma'am. We've learned not to ask."

"Dios. Maybe I did him no favors by fixin' him up. Maybe that was my first mistake."

"I know a lot of people who are mighty glad you did."

"Yes, but is Juanito one of them? The way you have described his pain I think he might disagree with you and he'd be the only one that counted." She paused, staring into the flames, then finally spoke, eyes still fixed on the blaze. "For a while I wasn't sure he'd make it at all. At his worst he kept askin' for his Mama, didn't remember she was dead." Lifting her head Inez looked intently at Scott. "The hardest thing I ever had to do was tell that boy she was dead, till now."

"I do believe you are scared, Ma'am."

"I'm scared shitless. Think I'd be a fool not to be. And I tell you, Mr. Lancer, I am no fool"

"No, Ma'am near as I can tell you are no fool, but please stop calling me Mr. Lancer. Why do you keep doing that?"

"Cuz you don't like it. I love to see you get all prickly, and to be honest, you are an easy target." She shook her head and chuckled. "Oh, I bet Juanito has fun with you."

Scott huffed loudly before realizing she'd done it again. He looked across the fire shaking his finger at her smiling face before being sobered by thoughts of his little brother. What he wouldn't give for a prank, a joke or a friendly belly swat. Gone were the leisurely chats at breakfast and their games of checkers and chess. Brotherly teasing was a thing of the past as were family dinner conversations. Johnny had been slipping away from them for weeks now and the image of him on that hill had found a permanent spot behind Scott's closed lids. A shiver returned him to the fireside and Inez's questioning gaze.

"Sorry about that, didn't mean to cut that close to the bone. " She passed the flask over and he refilled his cup. "Would you like me to continue?"

"Please." Scott replied, peering over the cup's lip as he sipped.

"We high-tailed it out of that god forsaken patch of dust and cactus as soon as Juanito was well enough and ended up in another one just like it. The only thing that made this place better was, this time, Socorro wasn't there. That bastard swore that Juanito did the killing and vowed he would return the favor. Juanito needed someplace to put his hate so I told him it was Socorro that killed his mother. To say they hated each other would have been an understatement." Inez stopped and stood. "Damn, I need to piss, excuse me."

Scott watched as she disappeared into the darkness. "Be careful, Ma'am, don't go too far!" he shouted.

"Think I know how to take a damn piss, Mr. Lancer."

"Scott!" he barked back.

She reappeared into the glow of the campfire. "Tell you what, Mr. Lancer, I promise to call you Scott if you stop calling me Ma'am, makes me feel too damn old. Deal?"

"Deal, ma' – Inez." He answered back proudly.

She settled back down, warming her hands by the fire. "There's a bit of a chill in the air, feels good after the heat of the day."

"You're supposed to be telling me about the last time you saw Johnny. Remember? Not the weather."

"I remember, Scott." She flashed him a broad smile. "Just not always easy tellin' something you're not proud of. Where was I… oh yes, our new home. Juanito and I took to it fine but not Tocón so much. He got confused real easy and started forgetting some of the things he knew how to do. It was gradual but by that December he was too much to handle." The broad smile was long gone, now replaced by the glint of a few tears on her cheeks. "It killed me, but I had to take him somewhere. I'd heard of this place, Austin State Lunatic Asylum, and thought maybe they could help." She cleared her throat and took a large gulp from her flask. "I packed up Tocón, promised Juanito I'd be back before Christmas and off we went. "

Inez stood, stretched her back and began to pace. Scott looked at her expectantly – waiting. His patience getting the better of him forced the prod. "Well – go on."

She moved close and crouched next to Scott, meeting him at eye level. With a penetrating stare she answered flatly. "I never went back."

Scott jumped to his feet, accidently knocking Inez to the ground in the process. "You did what!? You left him? Alone?"

She was no longer looking at him as she spoke quickly. "Things got complicated, Tocón ended up dead and I couldn't, I just couldn't. There wasn't any one reason; hell there wasn't a good reason. Shit, there is no respectable reason for me abandoning him like I did. I loved him, just had a funny way of showin' it is all."

Inez hung her head but Scott felt nothing for this woman. He stood close to the fire, feeling none of its warmth. What had he done? How was this woman going to help Johnny?

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Catalyst

Part 13

Sam sat on the veranda enjoying the sun's evening show and a glass of Murdoch's finest port. He watched as the riders approached, pleased father and son spent the day together. He rose to his feet when it became apparent just how slowly they were riding. Stepping from the porch, he moved toward them, as they came to a stop.

"Murdoch, you're lookin' plumb tuckered out." Jelly observed, startling the doctor. He'd wandered unnoticed from the barn and was standing barely an arms length away.

Murdoch placed a hand on Johnny's shoulder, dismounted and moved to aid his son.

"I'm alright, Murdoch," Johnny said, heading toward the barn with the horses. "I can do this."

Murdoch watched his son. His reply to Jelly, subdued, "Yes, it's been a very long day." His tone switched to one of authority "No, John, let Jelly take them, Sam needs to get a look at that hand."

"Best do what you bin told there, Johnny. I reckon I can take care of a cupla horses." The bearded man rolled his eyes and held out a calloused hand, waiting. "Don't got all day ya know," he groused. "Come out later 'n check up on me if you got a mind to."

One look at the young man's eyes convinced the doctor that things had not gone nearly as well as he'd hoped. A helpless fear rose in his chest at the realization that he didn't have the faintest notion of how to help his friend. "Still going to tell me you're all right, John, or are you ready for that second opinion?" He spoke with an unexpected harshness, arms crossed over his chest.

Johnny walked past him, brushing against his shoulder "Me and some barbed wire had a disagreement is all."

The concerned doctor turned and followed on his patient's heels, "You going to tell me what went on out there, Johnny?" Frustration fueled his words,

Murdoch stepped up, placing a firm hand on Sam's shoulder, stopping the doctor. The large man's voice was gentle and kind, "Not now, Sam. Just take a look, without the questions. He'll tell you when he's ready." He then caught up to Johnny with a few long strides, placed a hand on the young man's shoulder and walked by his side into the hacienda.

Sam stood for a moment. Almost grateful for something he knew how to fix. Up to now he'd done nothing to help his patient except watch him slowly lose ground, ground he couldn't afford to lose. Was it foolish to pin all hope on one woman? He was beginning to think it was. Hopefully Scott was fairing better.

Once inside, Sam found Johnny sitting on the table by the couch, Murdoch standing protectively by his side.

Releasing a long slow breath Sam relaxed his shoulders, "Let's take a look."

Teresa entered the great room, wiping her hands on a towel, "Oh good, your home, dinner is just about…" she stopped when she saw Sam hovering over Johnny, "What happened now? Johnny, are you all right?"

Bristling at the question, he put on a crooked smile, "I'm fine, Teresa, just a run in with a fence. We'll be done in short order, won't we Doc?"

"Huh, oh yes, dinner…" Distracted by his task Sam carefully unwound the bandages, "My goodness, Johnny, how on earth did this happen? Care to tell me about it?"

"Nope."

Murdoch smiled weakly at Teresa. "You can get started dear. I don't know about anyone else but I'm hungry enough to eat even Sam's cooking." He shot a glance at his friend but received no reaction.

Returning to the kitchen she countered, "Thankfully it hasn't come to that."

Murdoch roamed the room anxiously while Johnny sat still, as if unaffected by the obvious pain generated by the necessary ministrations. Caving to the need for a drink Murdoch filled two glasses.

Sam carefully studied his patient and was upset to see the exhaustion he displayed. "Think when we're done with dinner you'll be taking something to help you sleep, young man, then straight to bed."

"Don't think so, Sam. Nodded off out there for a while, I'm good."

"Murdoch?" The doctor looked to his friend for confirmation.

"Yes, Sam, probably a couple of hours and I have the aches in my back to prove it." He twisted from side to side as he walked back to the table with the glasses. "Here you go, Son."

The young man eyed the shot glass. Grabbed it, and finished it off in one swallow. Closing his eyes as it traveled to his stomach, most likely unsure of the greeting it would receive, he sighed in relief when it seemed to be welcome. He raised the empty glass with a questioning look that clearly asked for more. Sam shook his head. "Dinner first."

"Now, I've done the best I can, but we need to watch for a few things. Besides the obvious signs of infection you need to tell me if you experience any stiffness in your neck or at the back of your head. I'm serious, Johnny, no trying to be a hero, understand?

Dropping his head he replied, "I understand."

"You better, because at the first sign we need to get you on a regimen of curare for tetanus. I'll send Jelly to town tomorrow to get it from my office. Not something I carry around."

"You done, Doc?" Lifting his head with a smile, "Dinner smells good."

"Yes, it does. Are you going to eat tonight?"

"Don't know, Doc, am I?" He held up his bandaged hand.

"Damn it, Johnny, stop that!"

"What?" Johnny asked as he studied the bandage, opening and closing his fist with a hiss.

"That! Don't feel like stitching it back up again, young man. We'll need some kind of split to prevent that, if you keep it up."

"A little cranky, Sam?"

"Darn right I'm cranky! Always am when something happens and no one will bother to tell me how," he sputtered.

"Fair enough." Johnny said with a dip of his head but no explanation.

Very little was said throughout dinner. Teresa's attempts at conversation were mostly met with a nod or a grunt. The only subject that garnered any meaningful reaction was when she asked about Scott. Even Johnny seemed interested in that answer. "He's expected back tomorrow evening," Murdoch volunteered. "Maybe I'll head into town with Jelly tomorrow and send a wire, just to make sure."

"Good idea, Murdoch. I am anxious to get that new medication. I appreciate your sending Scott. It's in such short supply I couldn't be guaranteed it would get on that stage."

"It's the least we could do, Sam, considering," Murdoch answered with a wink.

The table fell silent again and Sam took to watching Johnny and his father. His medical expertise was not required to see the young man's deteriorating condition. Pale skin, dark circles and lifeless eyes were just a few of the outward signs he found so troubling. His weight loss was disconcerting and now, with his bandaged hand, eating would be even more cumbersome. It was difficult to watch as he tried to maneuver a knife and fork.

"Would you like some help with that, Son?" Murdoch asked.

Johnny replied with a cold stare.

In the end only a few forkfuls of potatoes found their way into his mouth, much to Sam's displeasure. Murdoch on other hand ate with gusto and, oddly enough, seemed to be beaming, well, beaming may be an exaggeration of sorts, but something had happened between them that generated a warmth toward his son not previously seen. The doctor smiled inwardly, feeling a glimmer of hope brought on by the welcome sight.

JMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJML

More than an hour had passed since Murdoch and Teresa went off to bed, a very quiet hour. Much of the great room was shrouded in shadow, the only light emanating from the ever growing fire. Seated on the sofa Sam watched his young friend. Only the curve of his back was visible as he leaned forward on the hassock, transfixed by the flames. From time to time he would poke at the logs then add another piece of wood. The good doctor found himself growing increasingly warm. His jacket, long discarded, lay beside him, sleeves rolled to the elbow and the top two buttons of his shirt undone, a very rare occurrence indeed. Johnny, on the other hand, seemed unable to get warm, squeezing his arms close to his body, wrapping his good hand tightly around and shoulders shivering. He inched closer and closer to the radiating flames.

"You'll be in that fireplace if you move any closer."

Johnny looked down at his hand then with a barely visible sideways glance caught sight of the man on the couch. "Almost forgot you were there."

"Kind of figured that, where you been?"

"No place good I'm afraid." He drew in a long quivering breath.

"May not be any of my business but what happened between you and your father today? He seems different."

"It isn't," Johnny stated matter-of-factly.

"It isn't what?"

"Your business."

"Oh!" Sam replied, trying to keep the offense from his voice but was certain that had not worked according to plan.

Johnny turned his head to catch the eye of the man behind him. "I'm sorry, Sam, he's just pleased cuz I shared the story of these damn beads, guess it distracted him from…"

"Did you tell him, Johnny? Does he know about Maria?"

"Yeah he knows. Said he didn't hate me. But at the same time said he doesn't believe me."

"I don't think it's, not believing, as much as, not accepting it as truth."

"That supposed to make a difference? Once he lets it take hold he'll realize, he'll understand."

"Understand what Johnny?"

"Understand that I don't belong here."

"You don't give your father too much credit, do you?"

"I'll tell ya, I don't give anyone too much credit, saves a lot of disappointment that way."

"But your father loves you Johnny."

"That's the worst part of all this Sam. It would hurt less if he hated me, make things easier. Love just makes you soft, lets your guard down and then and then…"

"And then what Johnny?"

"And then you get your guts ripped out and it hurts like hell."

"Is that what happened Johnny?"

"That's what always happens, Sam. Why should now be any different?"

Voices were replaced by the sounds of the house, the ticking of the grandfather clock and the crack of the fire. There really wasn't much he could say to Johnny that wouldn't sound trite. What do you say to a man who wishes he was hated so it hurt less? Nothing, nothing at all. Placing a hand on the young man's shoulder he was both pleased and surprised when he did not pull away.

Sam settled back onto the couch fighting the urge to sleep, the outer warmth of the fire and the inner warmth of the port worked hard to pull him into a deep comforting slumber. He needed to be awake, didn't want the man before him to feel he was alone.

"Damn, it's cold." He spoke as he slid from the hassock to the floor in an effort to get closer to the flames.

Sam's head jerked at the sudden sound. Guessing he may have lost that struggle with sleep. "It's not cold Johnny. Maybe I should check that hand for infection."

"No, Sam, it's not that."

"How about a drink? Sam jumped up anxious to move about, clearing the cobwebs from his sleep laden brain. After pouring a shot of tequila he returned to the fire and stood behind Johnny. Grabbing the glass as it was passed over his shoulder Johnny swallowed its contents in one smooth motion, setting the empty glass on the floor by his side.

Johnny's eyes never left the fire. "I gotta tell you, Sam, if the old man weren't there today I would have done it, would have made this all go away. BAM! No more pain."

The words were not loud but they were effective, with no conscious effort Sam found himself seated back on the edge of the sofa. His mouth forming words but no sound left his lips.

"But I couldn't, not with him right there watchin' so instead I did this," he raised the injured hand, "had to get my mind off the pain." There was a pause punctuated by a thoughtful chuckle, "He surprised me, I'll give him that. Said and did all the right things."

Finally the words squeaked out "He is a good man, one deserving of credit, John."

Another chuckle, "That's not the way I heard it. Why did she do it Sam? Why did she leave?" His eyes still cast into the flames.

"Your mother, Johnny?" He barely paused, "I wish I knew, thought she was happy. Saw her just a few days before she left. Neither of us saw it coming."

"The look of fear in her eyes when she spoke of him made me hate him all the more. I was sure he had beaten her, but now, now that I've met him, gotten to know him, I just don't see it. Don't see him raising a hand to any woman, no matter what she did." He turned now resting his head on the foot stool looking at his friend. "Did you ever know him to… I mean has he ever… Murdoch Lancer's never raised his hand to a woman, has he?"

"No Johnny, not in all the years I've known him."

"Then why did she do it? Why did she steal all those years from me… from us?"

The young man did not wait for the answer. His eyes slid closed as sleep pulled him under. There really was no answer after all, at least not one known to anyone at Lancer.

JMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJML

With their campfire almost out the dying embers glowed faintly. Scott watched as one by one they'd offer up their last lick of flame before losing the fight against the darkness. With a heavy sigh he rolled to his back wishing he could at least get some sleep tonight. Why did he do that? Why did he sometimes make rash decisions, run head long into a situation without considering all the possible angles? It went against every ounce of his military training. Thinking with heart instead of head was rarely in anyone's best interest. Turning again, back to the withering glow, he recalled some of Inez's warnings. Why had he dismissed them with such ease? 'Things can always get worse' and then that look, the look that told him she had seen things do exactly that. Why didn't he question her further? Why had he been so shortsighted? Another sigh and another turn brought him back to the fire just as a pair of boots stomped out what was left of the smoldering ash.

"Makes no sense, us both lying here awake when we got places to go."

"Do we? I'm not so sure anymore."

"Well, I been thinking about that…" She raised her hand to stop Scott from speaking "don't," she warned before continuing. "I got it all figured out. We'll go to Spanish Wells, that's where the stage was bringing my trunk. That will give me time to make myself look presentable, don't want to look like no saddle tramp, and you can scout out if I should even bother." She stood tall, if that was possible for her short stature, and waited.

Turning the idea over and over in his mind Scott tried to punch holes in her plan but couldn't. "Ok, that sounds reasonable."

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Catalyst

Part 14

"Not much to look at is it?" Inez snipped, inspecting her hotel room. Bedsprings creaked as she plopped herself down and removed her boots, taking a moment to rub the tired from her feet.

Scott stood in the doorway, hat in his hand. "It's fine. What difference does it make?"

"None really, beats trail dust and stone pillows I suppose."

"Are you all set? If you are I'll…" He turned to leave before finishing. Almost made it, almost turned the corner and down the stairs, when he heard her.

"Please, Scott, don't leave."

Where was that haughtiness? This voice sounded scared, in no way the voice of Inez. He stopped and dropped his head, wished he could just ignore her. He'd had about as much of this woman as he could stand, needed time to think things through.

"Don't you think we've spent enough time together?" He asked without turning around, placing his hat on his head.

"Thought you might want a bit of an explanation is all. You didn't give me chance last night or while we rode. Some nerve, shushin' me like you did. Got your longgies in a bunch, ya did. Aren't you the slightest bit curious?"

There it was, that all too familiar tone, the one easy to walk away from. "There is nothing I need to hear from you. Believe I've heard quite enough, thank you."

He could hear her walking towards him, moving closer. She stood directly behind him now. He did not turn. "Haven't you ever done things you regret, Scott?" It was that scared voice again.

Sighing deeply, he knew in his heart there were many things he regretted, actions taken during war, decisions made and the little incident in Boston that made the choice to come to Lancer a bit easier. "Of course, we all have."

"Then tell me, how do you look your deepest regret in the eye, Scott? How am I supposed to do that?"

"I can't tell you that, Inez. I've never needed to." He was looking at her now. This was a different woman standing before him. Stripped of all the confidence and airs, the smile erased from her face, she looked tired and old.

"There are a few more things you should know," she said flatly "before you make any decisions."

Scott knew she was right. If she was willing to talk, he should be willing to listen. "How about we get some coffee?"

JMLJMLJMLJMLJML

There was only one restaurant in Spanish Wells. Willie's was clean, offered a good meal and made a mighty fine cup of coffee. Neither the place nor the owner was what you would expect. Crisp white tablecloths and not a tin cup in site gave it a remarkably homey feel and Willie, well she wasn't exactly what you pictured when you heard the name. Widowed a few months back, she was, quite possibly, the prettiest thing Scott had ever seen and he looked forward to the day he could get to know her better.

Scott and Inez sat at a table by the window, "Coffee, please." Scott held up two fingers as he spoke. Inez watched as the mugs were set before them and ordered up a stack of flap-jacks with butter and honey. Nodding her thanks she then gave Scott a knowing wink. "What the hell you waitin' for? She's a pretty thing."

Scott glowered, "We aren't here to talk about me."

"I know, I know, but I call 'em like I see 'em and you are smitten."

"Yes, well that's not your concern, is it?" He snapped, "You felt I needed more details, so start talking."

Stirring her coffee, Inez looked out the window, "Not sure where to start… Maria I suppose, she's what started this whole mess." Shaking her head, she faced Scott. "They hadn't been with us long when she found herself a gentleman friend. Keep in mind I use the term gentleman loosely." A feeble smile touched her eyes. "Name was Socorro, slick as they come." Sipping her coffee she closed her eyes. "Socorro was… uhm… not as he appeared. He had an employer."

"Is that supposed to matter to me, that the man had a job?" Scott drained his mug and signaled for more.

"It might."

"Why? Who did he work for?"

"A man by the name of Grayson, called himself a gambler, but he was nothing but a smooth talkin' four-flusher."

Scott felt his mouth run dry. Can't say he expected that. A gambler? Maria's gambler? The need for action caused him to rise, refilling his own mug. He remembered. How could he forget? Remembered when Teresa told Johnny about the day his mother left. He was never sure if what she said rang true, now maybe here was the proof. No matter, today, that didn't make any difference - wasn't what he needed to know. He returned to his seat, with a cup full of coffee and a mind full of questions. "What does this man have to do with my opinion of you?"

"If you just sit still and give me a minute, I'll get to that." Eyes bright, she glared at him. "He was bad news, blow in, cause some trouble, and then be gone."

"Why would he need to employ this Socorro fellow?"

"Grayson needed him. Needed him to keep an eye on what was his and in return Socorro got a place to live and all the extras, unfortunately for Maria and Juanito the extras included his damned temper, but Maria was known to give as good as she got."

"He watched Maria?"

"And Juanito. Grayson called them his ace in the hole, saved for when his luck turned sour and in the mean time she put a smile on his face each time he showed up." Inez stopped for a minute, taking in some coffee before she continued. "Gotta' tell you she was a charmer, never met a man that didn't stop in his tracks to take a second look. And if you were lucky enough to make her laugh, well, death could take you then and there because you'd just heard the most beautiful sound in the world." Inez looked away and was quiet for a long moment.

Willie set down her breakfast. "Bout time! Girl could starve to death around here." Inez spoke harsh, trying to hide the hitch in her voice. Gaining composure, she finally took a taste and smiled, her eyes showing the signs of a few unshed tears.

"Grayson wanted Maria to have a reason to stay put so he got himself an idea, pretty good one too. Once he tracked her down he sent in Socorro to play the hero. Maria was convinced he was protectin' them from Grayson. They went so far as to put on a little show for her benefit, kinda made her stick with him, trust him. Grayson was cagey, I'll give him that."

Inez paused as she cut a thick wedge from her stack of flap-jacks and dragged it through the melted butter. Scott watched as she brought it to her mouth, the butter and honey dripping back to the plate and dribbling on her chin. With a swipe of her napkin, Inez continued.

"Seems, when Grayson's luck turned it turned in a big way; losin' at the tables and losin' Maria, both at the same time. He was never a nice man, tended to make Socorro look down right saintly, but now he was savage as a meat axe. Paid me a visit. Wanted the boy. Maybe it was the boy he wanted all along, since there are a few things young boys are good for that pay pretty well. None of 'em would be beneath our Mr. Grayson and none of them good for Juanito. Said, once he'd used him up, there was a certain rancher who'd probably pay somethin' to get what was left back, but no sense wastin' what was a sure thing." Inez paused, looking at her companion.

"You seem to have been pretty cozy with this Grayson, knew a lot about his plans. Maybe you worked for him too. Maybe you still work for him." Scott felt the swell of his anger but could do nothing to stop it. His patience had run thin. "I fail to see how this in any way explains what you did. Do you think you could get to the point?"

"Humph! You are an impatient son of a bitch aren't you?"

"Yes, I am. I don't want to sit here drinking coffee with you. I want to get home. I want to see my brother. Hell, I want to make sure I still have a brother. Don't you understand? I still don't know if your presence will help or hurt Johnny and right now that is all I care about. Have I made myself clear?" As much as Scott wanted to scream at this woman he kept his voice under control, but the anger was evident. When he was done he looked out the window, vaulting from his chair when he saw Jelly and Murdoch pull by in the wagon. In a heartbeat he was out the door.

"Murdoch! Jelly!" Scott shouted as he crossed the street. Seeing him, they brought the wagon to a stop. Loudly he asked "What brings you to town?" Softly he added "How's Johnny?"

Murdoch climbed out of the wagon. Jelly spoke. "I'll leave you two and head over to doc's office. See ya in two shakes." Both men nodded their acknowledgement.

Putting an arm around his son's shoulder they walked to the boardwalk. Scott studied his father's face, searching for clues. There were none.

"He was doing better, Scott. We spent the day together and… he spoke of her, Inez. She was good to him. It gave me hope." Murdoch eyes clouded, "He hurt his hand, so we need a few things from Sam's office. I was going to wire Modesto. Didn't expect you back this soon." Suddenly Murdoch looked around, his face drained of all color. "Don't tell me you didn't find her."

Scott grabbed his father's shoulders "I found her. She's having breakfast at Willie's. I'm just not so sure we did the right thing, not sure how much help she'll be."

"Why, Scott? Should I be concerned?"

"I don't know. But she was. And if you think he's doing better…"

"No Scott. I was wrong; Sam thinks he's nearly given up. He's given us strict instructions not to leave Johnny alone for any reason."

Drawing in a faltering breath Scott felt his heart skip a beat, "Well then, I think I should introduce you to Inez." He put his hand on his father's back and they crossed the street together.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Catalyst

Chapter 15

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust, the bright morning sun contrasted sharply with the café's darkness. Inez remained seated. Willie was by her side and they were talking, voices hushed. A gentle pat on Inez's back was followed by a hostile gaze in Scott's direction. Walking past the tall blond Willie paused, "I'd appreciate you not upsetting my customers, thank you."

Murdoch looked at Scott, "What did you do?"

"It would appear I lost my temper. You don't know how infuriating this woman can be."

"Scott, she is doing us a favor after all, let's try to be respectful."

"With all due respect sir, you have no…"

Inez walked toward them and interrupted with an outstretched hand. "I take it you are Mr. Lancer." Her smile did nothing to hide the sadness in her eyes. Scott wondered briefly if it had always been there and he just hadn't noticed. Murdoch bent forward slightly and wrapped her small hand in both of his. The look on his father's face was that of great relief. Scott feared his high hopes may be unwarranted and watched as an optimistic smile spread across his face.

"And you," she was wagging a finger of her other hand at Scott, "To say I worked for a vile creature such as Grayson is a terrible insult. You need to get the notion out of your head right now. I do not want to hurt your brother!" Turning back to Murdoch her voice softened "You do realize, if I were a spiteful woman I'd head straight back to Modesto, this very instant, without the slightest concern for Juanito."

"She left him Murdoch! When she knew this man, Grayson was after him."

A shadow crossed Murdoch's face with the news. He gave Inez a questioning look.

Looking from one man to the other Inez sighed. "I was getting to that, before the interruption."

Scott lowered his head, "Yes… well… I'm sorry."

"Should be." Inez replied.

"Let's sit, and if you don't mind you can continue." Taking her arm Murdoch ushered Inez back to her seat as she tilted her head toward Scott with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Why thank you Mr. Lancer or may I call you Murdoch?"

"Murdoch. Please. No need for formality after all you did for my son. I really must thank you."

Scott released an exasperated sigh.

"I'm afraid your son here, might disagree." She nodded toward Scott. "Right off I want you to know, I cared deeply for both Maria and Juanito. And I honestly wish things could have turned out differently."

Murdoch's face softened at the mention of his wife and son. "Do you think you can help? Are there things you know about Maria's death?"

Scott straightened at the question, surprised by his father's knowledge. "You know?"

The older man simply nodded, never taking his eyes from Inez.

"As for Maria's death I was not a witness, but I know things. To be truthful, it doesn't really matter what I know, Juanito needs to remember on his own; my telling him will do no good. Can I help him remember? Probably. Will he be pleased by what he learns? I'm not so sure." The shoulders of the older man slumped.

Inez yawned. "It has been a long few days and I'm suddenly very tired."

"Please," Scott placed his hand on her arm, "You were telling me of Grayson, he wanted Johnny. What happened next?"

Eyeing the young man warily Inez asked, "You'll listen this time?"

With a dip of his head Scott replied, "Yes, just listen."

Pressing the tines of her fork into the tablecloth, the handle rose then fell back with a soft thump. Again and again, Inez repeated this action until Scott was ready to grab the fork away from her. He resisted, figured she was testing him, and sat back in his chair.

As if she knew the exact moment Scott let go of his impatience she began. "Maria used to say, 'it's the bad that gets you to the good.' Was her way of finding hope in a life full of darkness." Murdoch nodded, as if he'd heard it before. "She was usually right, was in this case. Juanito was hurt so badly when Grayson came for him even he could see Juanito was in no condition to travel. He left, took Socorro with him. Figured we wouldn't be going anywhere for a while, but I had no choice. We traveled south, away from the border, away from the common routes and found a new home, a new patch of dust and cactus more desolate than the first but with no Socorro and no Grayson." Her gaze shifted, locking on to Scott, "That move saved your brother but cost me mine."

Scott nodded.

Murdoch looked from one face to the other searching for more answers.

"Your son can fill you in on the details, Mr. Lancer, but, Tocón, my brother, did not take well to the move. It became necessary to put him somewhere. I'd heard about this place, an asylum in Austin." Inez sat a little taller in her seat and her eyes focused on Scott. "I'll tell you right now, the decision I made that day, the day I left Juanito - was the right one. I couldn't take him with us, the roads we took were well traveled, word gets out. So I left him behind." Inez paused, her eyes drifted somewhere far away, her expression changed to one of despair, and her voice became quiet. Both men had to lean forward to hear. "They found us. Wanted to know where Juanito was, told them he was dead. Guess they didn't believe me." She closed her eyes, when they opened a tear trailed down her cheek. Quickly she wiped it away. "Grayson made sure I watched as Socorro's knife slit Tocón's throat."

Noises of the café filled the silence. "I'm sorry." Murdoch finally said.

"Ya well, wished they'd killed me, instead they just left, left me to bury my brother."

Inez rose from the table, "Like I said, I'm tired. Need a bath and a nap and my trunk. Then I will be ready to see my Juanito again." She looked at Murdoch, "He will see me?"

"He doesn't know you're coming but he doesn't speak poorly of you."

"Good, don't tell him. Let me be a surprise." She put a steadying hand on Murdoch's shoulder then stepped away and out the door. Both men watched as she crossed the street to the hotel.

Finally Scott broke the silence. "I'd like to get home, see Johnny. Sam with him?"

"Yes," Murdoch's eyes remained fixed on the empty street. "He was sleeping when we left. Sam slipped some sleeping powder into his tequila sometime early this morning."

Scott stood at the door and held it open, waiting for his father. "I could do with a little sleep myself."

Jelly strolled along the boardwalk looking around; he climbed into the wagon to wait. Both Scott and Murdoch were at his side before he'd gotten situated. "We'd like you to stay in town until Inez is ready, Jelly." The older man stated.

"Geez Murdoch, ya know I'll do anything for Johnny but, ya can't just 'spect me to lollygag 'round town all afternoon; people'll think I was born shiftless."

"Jelly," Murdoch stretched out his name "Scott and I need to get back and someone has to bring Inez when she's ready. Can't have her finding her way all alone, now can we?"

"Just don't see why I have to wait is all, don't mind coming back, ya know."

"We know, Jelly," Scott spoke up, planting a hand firmly on his friend's shoulder. "But I'm thinking she might need a little prodding and you're the best man for the job."

Puffing his chest, the bearded man stiffened "Cain't argue with ya there. I'll get her movin' you can count on that. Be back at Lancer by 8:30 or my name ain't Jellifer B. Hoskins."

"8:30 it is, Jelly," Murdoch said, adjusting the stirrups on Inez's horse to accommodate his long legs. "We'll be waiting."

Anxious to get underway, Scott mounted quickly, relieved, for the moment, to be away from Inez. Though his view was slowly shifting he still had a fair share of misgivings.

"So, Murdoch what do you think of her?"

"She's tough, not scared of much is she?"

"Near as I can figure, the only thing she's scared of is seeing Johnny."

"And yet she's here."

"Is that really enough? What if she's lying?"

"Do you think she's lying, Scott?"

The tall blond rode in silence for a while considering the question, coming up with only one conclusion. "I 'm not sure she needed to, just doesn't tell the whole truth, lies by omission."

"I think we've all done that."

"Are you defending her?"

"Maybe. It seems she loved him, made sacrifices for him."

"She never went back, Murdoch. Why didn't she go back for him?"

"Scott," Murdoch sighed, "if your brother's taught me anything it's you can't judge people until you know, really know the road they've walked. This is someone who spent a great deal of time with Johnny. I have to think some of the man Johnny is, is because of her."

"I'll tell you what part of him she thinks she's responsible for - Madrid. She thinks that's her fault."

"It seems she has a lot of secrets, some good and some bad and to tell you the truth I'm afraid, but I'll be afraid, whether we bring her to Lancer or not." I've seldom let fear influence my decisions and, when I have, the results have been regrettable. I allowed fear to make the decision to send your mother back east and it was fear that kept me from bringing you home to Lancer." Murdoch rode quietly for a few moments then shook his head, returning from his memories. "It has not ruled me since."

The words weren't clearly stated but Scott felt a slight weight lifted, he'd just heard the closet thing to an apology he was ever going to get from Murdoch Lancer.

His father spoke again. "Johnny has some good memories of her. She and her brother saved his life, it's her beads he wears and, according to Sam, her brother, was a friend when he had no friends. I believe we've made the right decision. Pity he's dead."

They rode in silence, both men deep in thought. Their heavy hearts were not lightened by the sight of the hacienda.

Sam met them at the door. "Scott! How was your trip! Successful?" The doctor looked past the two men with a questioning gaze.

"I've got the things from your office Sam, and Jelly will bring the rest along later." Murdoch answered.

"Good, good." Sam looked pleased but his voice was strained.

"How is he?"

"Well, I managed to get him angry with me. Which I must confess pleases me a bit."

"And just how did you manage that?" Not waiting for an answer, Scott pushed past the doctor to see his brother.

"Damn you, Sam!" Johnny's voice was a welcome sound to his brother's ears.

Scott rounded the corner and they nearly collided. "Johnny!" His hands went out protectively to stop the forward motion of his agitated brother, taking hold of his shoulders. "Whoa, there. It's good to see you too." Bending his head, to get a good look, Scott studied his brother's face.

"Scott, I need to get out of here, I'm going crazy," his eyes begged. "I don't take kindly to being tricked." Johnny glared at Sam.

"Now Johnny, you needed sleep. I'm your doctor first, don't forget."

Stepping around his brother Johnny paced, his eyes darted from Scott to Murdoch to Sam. "Stop gawkin' at me! I want to go for a ride, head to town, get drunk, get laid, hell I don't know, maybe I just need to be by myself." He turned to Sam. "See, told you I didn't want sleep, now look at me, crawlin' out of my skin, I am. Is this better? Is this what you wanted?"

He strode off, headed toward the barn. Unnecessarily, Sam motioned for Scott to follow. He was already on his way.

Johnny pulled his saddle from the tack room, swearing under his breath.

"Just where do you think you're going, Brother?"

"I don't know Scott, just going. Alone."

"Now, you know you can't do that, right?"

"Damn it, Scott! Just let me go. I promise…"

"You promise what, Johnny? That you won't do something foolish? Won't come back? Won't make us worry? What Johnny? What can you say, right now, that will convince me to let you ride out of here?" Scott drew an angry breath. "Nothing, Johnny, there is not one thing. You're not going anywhere," he calmed his voice before adding, "unless I'm right beside you."

"Damn it, Scott, that's not fair." He leaned back against the stall door.

Reaching out Scott lifted the saddle from his brother's hands and draped it over the stall. Johnny slid to the floor legs stretched out, Scott sat beside him. "You alright, now?"

"Oh ya, Scott, I'm just great. Johnny stared at his bandaged hand watching the bright red stain stretch out across his palm.

"Sam's not going to like that."

"Ya, well that's a surprise ain't it," Johnny snapped.

They sat quiet for a while, leaning shoulder to shoulder. The barn door creaked as it opened and Murdoch stuck his head in. "You boys all right? Awfully quiet in here."

Johnny sighed heavily and pushed himself up from the floor, Scott followed suit. Neither man answered.

Noting the fresh blood on the formerly white bandage Murdoch pushed open the door and walked toward his sons. "Brought back some special splint for your hand, now looks as good a time as any to have Sam put it to good use."

Vacant eyes stared at Murdoch "He had no right, no right."

"Johnny, it was just sleeping powder, you needed to rest."

"That ain't the point, don't like not bein' able to wake up. Only good thing about a nightmare is bein' able to open your eyes to escape. He had no right takin' that from me."

The three men made their way to the house. Once inside Sam examined the wound and grunted in annoyance to see the stitches had pulled away but voiced his pleasure at no sign of infection or joint stiffness. The splint he'd acquired was perfectly suited to its task, curved, to allow the hand to remain relaxed and not pull on the stitches. Perfect for a non-cooperative patient, of which Johnny was a prime example.

The remainder of the afternoon found Johnny pacing around the great room scowling at the doctor. "You don't have to hang around you know. Don't you have other patients who don't mind all the attention?"

"Yes, Johnny, I do. Some actually appreciate what I do for them. I'll head back to town tomorrow if that's what you want."

"That's what I want."

"Fine."

Eight thirty couldn't arrive soon enough. Emotions ran high. Hope, fear, desperation, sorrow pulsed through each onlooker. This was it, what they'd all been waiting for, hoping for, dreading. It was the anticipation of an unopened gift and the agony of a dying friend and there was no turning back now.

Johnny sat at Murdoch's desk trying to focus on the scribbles of numbers, trying to make sense of them but they made no sense. He wasn't even sure they were numbers anymore. His head ached, thanks to that damned sleeping powder, his hand hurt and his insides, well thankfully at this exact moment, his insides felt nothing at all. They'd been screamin' at him since he opened his eyes. Nightmare after nightmare left him feeling raw rage and he did regret lashing out at Sam but would also be glad to have one less pair of eyes staring at him. Resting the elbow of his good hand on the desk he lowered his head, rubbing closed eyes with thumb and forefinger. Damn, wish they'd stop watching, can't even take a piss without an audience. Should never have slipped with Sam, should never have told him. Damn. Now, what were they doing? It was too quiet for a room with so many people. Waiting to see what the side show freak would do next? "Why can't you just leave me alone?" Instantly regretting his next action, fists slammed on the desk, the shooting pain brought a well of tears to his eyes, blurring his vision, as he looked up at their faces.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Catalyst

Chapter 16

Johnny fought to stay in control. He walked around the desk then stopped, turned, and started toward the couch, Sam was there, watching. Nope don't want that. Teresa sat by the fireplace, pretending to mend a shirt but her eyes were on Johnny not the fabric in her hands. Hell, if he weren't so wound up it would almost be funny, she repeatedly pricked her finger, bringing the wounded flesh to her lips to suck away the fresh blood. He turned again, back to the desk, and leaned on the edge. Scott had his nose in a book. He was not reading but instead peered over the top, watching. Murdoch made no secret of what he was doing, he simply leaned against the door frame, watching.

Using his sleeve, Johnny wiped the remaining tears from his face and the sweat from his brow. "Damn, it's hot." He undid a button on his shirt and pulled the fabric away from his damp skin.

Teresa set down her mending, "Can I get you something cool to drink, Johnny?"

"Sure Teresa, whatever you want, I don't care." His voice was frayed his hands shaking.

"Damn it's hot," he repeated, "can't breathe." Pushing away from the desk he abruptly walked across the room and slipped through the French doors. It was dark, the air was heavy and the muffled rumble of thunder echoed off the mountains. He pressed his head against a pillar, seeking out its coolness, there was none. "Damn." Eyes squeezed shut he struggled to draw several deep breaths, desperately trying to fill his lungs. His chest ached, the weight of the world resting squarely on his heart.

"You all right, Johnny?" Scott spoke, catching him off guard.

"Damn, Scott. No, I'm not. Is that what you want to hear?" Unable to look at his brother he moved to face the horizon watching as a flash lit the sky.

"Think we'll get rain?"

"Not lookin' to talk about the weather, Scott. Not lookin' to talk. Go back inside."

"Thank you, no. Think I'll stay right here."

"Suit yourself." Johnny stepped away, headed for the water pump. Working the lever with his good hand started the stream of cool water and he stuck his head under its flow. It felt good.

"Would you like some help with that?" Scott had his hand ready to pump more water.

"No, Scott, just back off." He paused then added, "Please." Water dripped from his hair, rolling down his back bringing a welcome coolness. The sound of the approaching wagon was not welcome. He threw his hands into the air, "Great, the damn wagon, suppose Jelly'll come in now. Just what I need, another pair of eyes, watching!" Johnny stormed back into the house.

He brushed past Murdoch. "Don't wanna be watched anymore. Goin' upstairs." With a foot on the first step he turned, putting up his hand to stop his father's forward motion, "Alone!"

Murdoch protested, "But, Johnny…"

"I said, alone."

Up until now, Sam had remained seated, simply watching the scene as it unfolded before him. He stood and spoke just as Teresa came into the great room from the kitchen, a tall glass of lemonade in her hand. "Johnny, I don't think that's wise."

Johnny shot him an angry glance.

Teresa approached with the glass and a nervous smile, "Here you go, Johnny."

Grabbing the glass, he studied it for a moment and listened as he heard Jelly sputtering to someone about Lancer. Someone. Who now? Another pair of watching eyes? That's who. Damn family wasn't enough? Now he'd be the entertainment for the whole fucking town! He spun on his heels and hurled the glass towards the door, with a crash it sent shimmering shards dancing across the floor in a crescendo of frustration.

Each person in the room yelled his name. Each voice carried a different message. But the only voice that caught his attention was the one that cried "Juanito!"

All movement stopped.

Inez stood in the doorway looking cool and elegant. Long salt and pepper hair was pulled back snug, and wound into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her flowing red skirt hid her excesses and the crisp white blouse accentuated her tanned skin. Lips pressed tight, squeezing out all color, were the only outward sign of her nerves. She stepped forward, making no attempt to avoid the bits of broken glass as they crunched beneath her feet, the expression on her face, impossible to read.

Inez. The years had softened her features, deepened her lines but, instantly, he knew her. Inez. Every muscle in his body urged him to take action, their discourse left him frozen in place. She stood before him, looking into his eyes, then purposefully raised her hand and slapped him, hard, across the face. Instantly Johnny grabbed hold of her wrist, his eyes sparked with fierce rage as his grip tightened, causing Inez to gasp at the pain. The sound brought a look of sadness to his eyes followed by a rasping sigh. His rigid stance relaxed and he loosened his grip, a little.

Scott pushed past Jelly and Murdoch and grabbed the woman by the shoulders. Almost imperceptibly Johnny signaled him to back off. He did.

Inez pulled herself in close, rose on her toes and placed a gentle kiss on the cheek she'd just slapped. She whispered, but her tone was sharp, "These people don't deserve this, Juanito. They love you." His eyes looked past her, to his family. Each face told the story of how much he was hurting them.

"Look at me, Juanito," she commanded.

After searching each face he returned his gaze to Inez. HeH Kindness softened her words. "If you need to hate, hate me, yell at me, take it out on me, not this family. They would never betray you." He released his grip and her hands gently cupped his face. "I thought you were dead, Juanito, I was certain you were dead." Her tears flowed freely as she kissed his face then she took Johnny into a tight embrace. He pushed her away, saying nothing, turned back to the stairs. Relying heavily on the banister for support he began a slow ascent. Inez started to follow but Scott pulled her back "No, you stay here." She began to protest, but stopped.

Shrouded in the darkness at the top of the steps Johnny feared his legs would betray him. He leaned his back heavily against the wall, the sheer magnitude of emotions crushing him, he slid to the floor. Inez. She may not have been his mother but she did mother him, made him feel safe and protected. His heart ached for a hug, a gentle kiss, touches a mother gives her child. There was a time he accepted those from Inez and would melt into her embrace. But, just like with his real mother, those times were cut short, replaced by heartache and loneliness. He drew a jagged breath, the memory fresh as she told him of his mama's death, then with the exhale of that breath, an unintended moan. The memory of waiting, waiting for Inez to return froze his heart.

"Would you like a hand up, Brother?" Scott offered his outstretched arm.

"No, Scott. Think I'll just stay right here a while." He didn't look up.

Scott crouched close to his brother. More lighting flashed, brightening the hall, then darkness. "So, what do you think? Was I wrong to bring Inez here?"

"Kind of a funny time to be askin' that don't ya think?" His head still hung low, legs pulled in tight.

"That may be, but, if you'd said no, then where would that leave us? We had to try something."

"Knew I'd have to see her eventually, just wasn't in any hurry is all. Heard rumors. Figured it was her in Modesto. Guess I was right."

"You usually are, Johnny." There was no response. Scott straightened and lit a lamp on the wall. Shadows played across the floor before settling down into a soft yellow glow. He shook out the match. "I'm just not so sure I trust her, seems, she's done some pretty bad things."

"Seems you could say the same about me, ain't that right, Brother?"

"Are you saying you forgive her?"

"That's not what I'm sayin' at all, Scott. Don't think that it matters."

"But, Johnny, she never went back, she left you alone."

Johnny's head shot up and he looked at Scott with a puzzled expression. "Is that what she told you?" He shook his head and laughed softly "Wasn't alone exactly, not for long anyway."

It was Scott's turn to look puzzled as Johnny squirmed uncomfortably.

"Yes, that's what she told me. Why? What don't I know Johnny? Tell me and I'll send her on her way, damn it Johnny, what did she do?"

"Relax, Scott, if I want her gone it'll be me that does the sending. Hey, I'm still here, right? What she did didn't kill me." He offered a half hearted smile.

"Not yet." Scott muttered softly.

Another flash of lighting lit their faces followed by a violent crack of thunder. Both men flinched. A strong gust of wind blew through the open window at the end of the hall, lifting the curtains with a snap. The first few large raindrops hit the floor. Scott pulled the window shut just as the downpour let loose.

Inez spoke before she reached the top of the stairs, "I travel all this way and you go hiding up here with your brother. Aren't you glad to see me?" Inez answered her own question. "Suppose I don't want to know the answer to that." She sat on the top step. "You know I don't take well to hide and seek, never did. You were always the dickens to find, made your mama fret so, but, Tocón, he was always easy to find. He never did figure out how big he was."

"Ya, I remember," Johnny drawled, a hint of a smile on his mouth at the memory of his dear friend.

"There, now that's a little better. Shame on you, being so disrespectful, throwing things. Tsk, Tsk. Now I've said my peace and that's all I have to say on the matter."

Johnny leaned his head back against the wall and eyed Inez suspiciously. "Doubt that."

"Don't be talking fresh to me young man. I've got some tea brewing downstairs and I'll make you drink two cups if you keep that up."

A pained expression pinched his face "My memory's not so messed up that I don't remember your teas. Think I'll pass."

"Not an option. Neither is moving downstairs. I've been sitting the back of a horse for the better part of two days and my ass is ready for something soft. It's time we nestle into that cozy looking couch, drink some tea and get ourselves reacquainted."

Johnny raised his head and studied Inez through squinted eyes then pushed to his feet. "So, Scott… two days with Inez, huh? Bet cha' ate good."

"That's the only thing that was good, Brother. Well, that and the Scotch." Scott replied with a pat on his brother's back.

"She gives you Scotch and all I get is her damn tea."

The great room was quiet, except for the beat of the rain, as the three descended the stairs. Wordlessly Jelly helped Teresa gather up her bucket, broom and mop. All traces of the outburst cleaned away. Johnny placed his hand on Teresa's arm, "Sorry about that."

She did not reply.

Sam and Murdoch were seated on the coach wrapped in a hushed conversation. Inez interrupted. "Think you can carry on that discussion someplace else? Juanito and I have reserved this seat." Both men looked up startled but moved without comment. Scott followed Teresa and Jelly into the kitchen.

Inez pressed Johnny down into the couch, "I'll be right back. Don't move."

Sam followed Inez into the kitchen. Murdoch came behind Johnny and placed strong hands on the young man's shoulders. "Don't you think you should get out of that wet shirt, Son?"

"I'm good."

Both men looked up when Sam followed Inez back from the kitchen. He sounded annoyed. "I want to know what you are giving my patient!"

"Valerian, passionflower & lemon balm, my own combination and if I use enough lemon balm it doesn't taste that bad either." Inez passed the mug to Johnny as she spoke. "Should calm you and your dreams down, maybe you can get some sleep that will actually do you some good. Cuz, right now, Juanito, I gotta' tell you, you look like shit."

"Ya well, thanks for the compliment." Johnny set the mug on the floor.

"Juanito…"

"Name's Johnny. Would appreciate it if that's what you called me."

"OK, Johnny… not sure where to start 'cept to tell you I'm sorry."

"Does that matter Inez? Is that supposed to make everything all right? Not sure why you're here and not sure I want you here. There's enough bad stuff running around in my head. Why do I need to add your shit? Huh? Why do I need to remember what you did too? Damn, this isn't good. Damn I don't think I can do this. Damn, I'm gonna be sick." Johnny jumped from the couch and ran outside. Gulping in air to calm his heaving stomach worked, for a moment. The cool rain felt good against his skin and he could hear the raised voices of everyone inside. Bits and pieces reached his ears.

"…. Miracles… not me." Inez yelled.

"Lies, nothing but lies…. If you… Modesto..." That was Scott.

"I trusted you, believed in you and now what have you done?" Murdoch came through loud and clear. "How could I have been so blind?"

"Please…. try again… blame… too fast... enough." Sam tried to calm the group.

Quickly his eyes grew accustom to the darkness and he moved away from the house. The voices faded against the roar of the rain. Rain that was coming down harder now, sheets of it. Ripples of light flashed against the horizon followed by more rumbles of thunder. A little river of mud worked its way from the corral and headed toward the barn. Lifting his head, letting the rain pelt his face he felt free, alone. Was it real? No watchful eyes, no sympathetic stares, he was alone and it felt good. Didn't it? He slipped into the barn.

The horses were restless; storms like this often set them on edge. He walked to his faithful friend as silent tears rolled down his cheeks. He stroked Barranca's forehead then buried his face into the golden neck. The horse calmed. Johnny settled himself onto a bale of hay, situated so he could see Barranca, his last memory. He removed his gun from its holster; heaving a heavy sigh. It did nothing to lesson the weight in his chest. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to kill a man, where to place a bullet and this would be no exception, pressing the gun to his chest he longed to end the ache in his heart. He was ready and a feeling of peace caused him to smile, slightly.

The barn door slid open followed by the strike of a match and the glow of its flame caught the wick of a lantern. Inez advanced. "Gotta' tell you, never had you figured for a coward, ain't the first time I been wrong, but if that's what you want to do, I sure as hell won't try to stop you."

Johnny stared at her, how was she here? Why was she here?

"Come on! Came all this way, might as well see the show! I'll get to see 'em all come rushing in. Watch your old man break down and cry. Course your brother will start off blaming me then fall to his knees. And that girl, she'll just faint straight away. The one that brought me out here, all he did was talk about you, thinks you're a damn hero, hell you got him snookered; he'll just stand off to the side and bawl his fool eyes out. Yup, I'm in for quite a show. Come on… Do it! Shit, I'll even help."

JMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJML

The sound in the great room grew louder and louder. Murdoch yelled at Scott, Scott at Sam, Sam yelled at Murdoch and Scott, while Teresa yelled at all three. None of them noticed the target of their anger left the room; none of them noticed Johnny had not returned. But they all noticed the sound of a single gunshot. It silenced the room.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

Catalyst

Chapter 17

Fear, dread, solicitude, no matter what it's called, it stops the heart, freezes the blood, and forces one to wish – no pray - 'it's only a dream'. Running from the house to the barn, Murdoch Lancer prayed he was dreaming. He'd awaken any minute, drenched in sweat, but safe, in his own bed. The sound – maybe it was actually thunder, just an overactive imagination brought on by concern for his son, everything would be just fine. His feet slid in the slick mud, sloshed in the puddles. The golden glow of lamplight from the barn door, looked surreal, like a beacon, guiding him toward his son. Thoughts, fears, images surged through his mind – a gun, of course, blood, so much blood, and his son's lifeless body. These were shuffled with insipid attempts at hope. Everything is all right. This isn't what it seems. He wouldn't, he couldn't.

Fear of the unknown, fear of the expected, slowed his entrance. The lantern, resting on the floor, cast wide shadows - shadows that knifed across patches of light. The gun lay discarded at his son's feet. Soft mournful sobs cut into the harrowing silence. Disbelief, anguish, hope clouded his thoughts, holding him motionless. Time, that ever marching warrior, stopped.

Inez, her back to the door, knelt on the hay, arms wrapped protectively around his unmoving son. Rocking. It was her somber chant that filled the space. A mother comforting her newborn, "Hush, hush, everything will be all right, hush." She stroked Johnny's hair, kissed the top of his head as he lay in her arms, limp and motionless. Murdoch's eyes and mind played a cruel trick, for there before him was Maria and their baby boy and, for an instant, his heart smiled at the sight of the motherly love. Then terror, "No, no, no," began softly, "you can't have our boy. No, no, NO!" building into a powerful roar.

At that very moment Scott, burst through the door, wheeling around the door frame. "Johnny!" His cry pulled the older man from his trance. Inez lifted her face, glistening with freshly shed tears and looked at them, studied them. "Shhhh."

Both men moved in slowly "Is he…?" Murdoch stopped, unable to ask the question perched on his lips. Scott did it for him. "Is he dead?"

"No. He's unharmed." She beckoned for Murdoch to come and take his son. He sat beside him and wrapped his arms around his boy as Inez released her embrace. He felt the tear roll down his cheek as he held on tightly, solace filled him at the realization that Maria did not take him this time.

"I'm sorry, forgive me," Johnny's voice barely a whisper.

"There's nothing to forgive, Son. Nothing."

A firm hand reached for Inez as she stepped away, Scott spun her around. "Stay away from my brother!" he spat.

Inez grimaced. He then saw the trail of fresh blood traveling down her arm. "It was you? He shot you?" He didn't release his grip.

"I do seem to know how to light that boy's fuse. Not sure if I was lucky his hands were shakin' or unlucky, but it just grazed me and ended up in that sack of feed."

"Luckiest day of your life, Inez. Was aimin' for your heart, sorry about that." Johnny still leaned heavily against his father, his voice strained, a pitiful smile pasted on his pale face.

Sam ran through the door, bag in hand. "You hurt, John?" The old doctor panted as he approached, pulling his stethoscope from his bag.

Pushing himself upright Johnny replied "I'm ok, tired, just tired." Sam checked his pulse as Johnny shifted his gaze from the doctor to his brother, "Please don't be angry, Scott. If she… I mean if I'd… Hell, don't be angry."

"Angry? What the hell were you thinking? You scared us all half to death! And you…" Scott turned toward Inez, "you have no business being out here! Get away! Get away from him now!"

Teresa's arrival stopped Scott's harangue, she had Jelly in tow. "Tried holdin' her back like ya asked but there was nuthin' more I could do. Couldn't keep her corralled any longer darn near dragged me out here, needin' to make sure you were ok. You are ok there… right, Johnny?"

"Ya, Jelly. I'm ok." He leaned back against Murdoch and closed his eyes, "just real tired." He drew a long jagged breath. "Sorry, Teresa didn't mean ta scare ya."

Sam straightened, satisfied his patient was fine, physically. He then turned his attention to Inez. "How about you?"

"Kinda shot her, Sam," Johnny's words slurred slightly, "but she'll live."

A quick look at the wound had Sam nodding in agreement.

"Course I'll live!" Inez said pulling away. "Now, if you'd kindly give that poor boy a little breathin' room maybe he could get back to the house."

"She's right," Sam stated, "if everyone would stop crowding him, please."

"Doc," Inez spoke with authority, "This is what we're gonna do. Hope you have no objections."

"Now, wait a minute," Scott protested, "Who do you think you are telling us what to do?"

Ignoring him, Inez pointed to Murdoch and Scott. "I want you two to help Johnny into the house and up to his room," she barked.

Scott looked to Sam, his eyes full of questions. "Her request seems reasonable enough, Scott. Do as she says, please."

"And you, young lady," directing her attention to Teresa, "warm that tea I made earlier, the pot, not the mug. Then bring it up to his room. One of you, did you hear me, one of you can stay while he drinks it."

As the others stepped back Inez moved closer to Johnny, placing a hand under his chin she lifted his head and looked into his eyes. "I know you're exhausted but you are gonna drink that tea and then you'll get some sleep. Ok?" Gently stroking his cheek she added, "Oh, you'll give that gun of yours to your brother for safe keeping, just for the night." Johnny shot her a wary glance. "Don't be lookin' at me like that, you'll get it back as soon as you wake, promise."

"Not so sure your promises are something I can put much stock in, Inez." His words slurred ever so slightly and he rubbed his eyes.

"Fair enough, then, Scott promises. Don't you Scott?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Was his harsh reply.

"And you, Doc, I'd like a moment of your time while everyone else is busy, if you don't mind."

"What about me? Reckon I can do somethin' 'stead of standin' 'round with my hands in my pockets," Jelly asked indignantly.

"You? Well you can wait till I'm done. Because I'm gonna need a fine gentleman with a sense of humor to have a drink with. If ya don't mind," Inez replied with a wink.

Jelly looked once then twice at Inez before nodding. "Suppose that's the least I could do."

"You can come with me, Jelly. Keep me company." Teresa's voice cracked slightly from the strain of the day but she forced a smile. Together they walked to the house.

Murdoch and Scott moved to help Johnny up. "I'm ok, can do it myself, just tired is all, just real tired. Don't think I'll be needin' that tea after all, Inez."

"You'll be drinkin' it whether you think you need it or not. Understood?"

He bowed his head as he steadied himself on a column and sighed.

Murdoch cast a questioning glance to Sam who nodded his head. "It'll do him good, give him a restful sleep. Try not to worry, Murdoch."

Comforted by his old friend, Murdoch smiled weakly. "Teresa will make sure he drinks it, she's good at that."

"Oh, yes," Scott agreed, "very good. Ready, Johnny?"

Johnny pushed off the column, taking a few steps toward the house before his knees crumpled beneath him. Both his father and brother were by his side to offer their support.

Watching them leave Sam turned to Inez, "He's exhausted."

"Yes, he is." Inez looked at him with skepticism. "You call yourself a doctor?"

Sam bristled, "I am. Have been for nearly thirty years, in fact I brought Johnny into this world."

"Seems you've made quite a mess of things if you ask me."

"I don't recall anyone asking you. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, you're the one who sent him running for the barn."

"Yeah, well, I may have been mistaken about surprising him. Didn't realize just how bad off he was. Scott kept telling me but I got the impression he was overreacting."

"Scott does not overreact."

"Now how exactly was I supposed to know that? Until I saw for myself, I wasn't certain it would even be Juanito. The only thing I'd been certain of all these years was that he was dead."

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"That's not important now. Now I want to know when this all started. It's been so many years. Why now? Why is this happening now?"

"From what I can figure it got bad about five days ago, the smell of some flowers, sweet acacia… I think…have an incredible fragrance. But I'm pretty sure it's something he's fought for a long time. Always got restless this time of year, would usually just take off, we just never knew why."

"I know that flower, Maria's favorite, grew right outside her backdoor. It was where…" Inez grew silent, stared off, then looked into Sam's eyes, "Fragrance can be a powerful thing."

"I'd like to take a look at that arm now, Inez. You're lucky he didn't kill you, if that was indeed the intent."

"Yes, well better me than his original target."

_JMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJMLJML_

The great room was quiet as Sam finished bandaging Inez's arm. "There now, it will be tender but Johnny was right, you'll live."

Teresa was the last to join the group. She stretched and yawned as she made her way to her chair.

"Is Johnny asleep?"

"Sound asleep, Murdoch, peaceful." A reassuring smile soften her ragged appearance.

"Told you it would work." Inez puffed up to her full five foot height as she paced the room. "Been dabbling in herbs since I left Tampico. Had to learn what worked right quick. My brother, he'd get a little worked up at times and was too big for me to deal with any other way. You can believe me, with that concentration, Juanito will sleep peacefully all night, which means all you folks can too."

"If you'll excuse me, think I'll go take a look for myself," Sam said as he gathered up his equipment, returned everything to his bag, then he and his bag went upstairs.

"I'm forced to ask, Inez," Scott spoke with a distinct military tone, "Why are you here, really? It doesn't appear you are any more equipped to help my brother than we are. So, why did you agree to come?"

She eyed Scott scornfully. "I'm here because you begged me to come. Even after I told you not to expect much from me! And now you have the nerve to pass judgment? There is only one person here fit to judge me and that is Juanito himself." She sat heavily onto the couch, "I need a drink."

"Name it." Murdoch spoke as he walked to the liquor cabinet. "Scott?" He raised the whiskey bottle and Scott gave a nod.

"Tequila," said Inez.

He poured and carried over the glasses. Scott took his taking a small sip. Inez took hers, drank it down in one gulp, and passed it back to Murdoch. "Another, please."

Murdoch obliged and she knocked it back just as fast.

"Did you feel guilty?" Scott asked, his blue eyes bore into her searching for the truth.

"I needed to see for myself. How could he not be dead? It was so much easier to believe he was dead, know he was dead. No one could hurt him anymore. But alive? What did that mean?" She closed her eyes and pulled on the cord around her neck, revealing a wooden cross tucked inside her blouse. Running her fingers over the edges she brought it to her lips, with a kiss. "Please forgive me."

"I knew it!" Scott slammed his glass on the mantel sending its contents splashing over the edge onto his hand. He wiped it on his pants. "There is more than you've told us."

"There are a few little details I may have left out of my story."

"Teresa, dear," Murdoch spoke with kindness, "perhaps you should go to bed now, these are things you don't need to hear."

"No, I believe I'll stay, thank you," she answered sharply. "I have a right to know too."

"Let her stay, Murdoch, she should know the kind of woman I invited into this house. You were saying Inez," the anger in Scott's voice was still evident.

Inez continued to finger the crude wooden cross, "Well, I told you we left Johnny, but in my defense I tried to get him to go to the mission, he refused. What could I do? If I forced him he'd only leave, so I let him stay where he was, but I told the padre and he promised to look in on him." She breathed a heavy sigh. "I believed I did the only thing I could then, and I still believe I did the right thing now, just wish it could have turned out better."

"When Grayson and Socorro found us, they were worse than I'd ever seen them. Down on their luck, drinkin' and god knows what else. There was a time I could talk to Socorro, reason with him, but not this time." She stopped and looked at Murdoch, wagging the empty glass between her fingers. He crossed the room, grabbed the bottle and passed it to Inez. She poured another shot. "I told you how our little visit ended, but that was not their initial threat. At first they threatened to kill me, then and there, if I didn't tell them where to find Juanito. Now I placed little value on my own life, but they laughed when they said Tocón would be spared. With the mind of a child, left to wander the desert or sit by my side waiting for me to awaken, either way his death would have come, but the image of that slow death was not something I could bear, so I told them, I told them where to find Juanito and in return they killed my brother quickly and left me there, alone." She emptied her glass.

Teresa looked at Inez, eyes full of sorrow. "How very difficult for you, I don't envy your decision." Moving from her chair to the couch, next to Inez, she placed her head on the woman's shoulder. "You must have felt so alone."

"Have you told the whole truth now or is there more? Does it never end with you?" Scott asked.

Murdoch remained calm. "Is there more? If you know more we have the right to know."

"After what I'd done I couldn't go back. I wanted to, but what was the point, really. You do understand, tell me you understand." Her eyes pleaded with Murdoch, begging for acceptance, but there was none offered. "I retuned to my family home, tried to live a normal life, but I was always haunted by what I'd done and the unknown result. Nothing took away the heartache, eventually I was drawn back to the village. I spoke with the padre, he told me he'd been so very busy with Christmas and Día de los Reyes it was several weeks before he went to see Juanito." Inez poured another glass and did not hesitate to swallow. "He found him, dead, had been for many, many days. He showed me his grave and offered me his pity. I deserved no one's pity.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**Catalyst: **Chapter 18

by Cobalt Jan

Huddled beneath the covers, not feeling any particular need to move, he felt safe. It seemed unlikely he could cause any trouble as long as he stayed right where he was. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. Wouldn't have to face them, say how sorry he was. Sorry. Was he sorry? Not really sure. And if he was, what was he sorry for?

Sorry for wanting to end the pain? Nope, can't say sorry for that, cuz one way or another this pain has to stop. Just maybe he'd picked the wrong way to go about it. Maybe he was sorry for that, but it felt so damn right.

Sorry for being selfish? Not sure that's right either. Alive or dead he's hurtin' them. Was it selfish to want to spare his family sufferin'? They'd get over it; move on a lot faster with him dead than stringin' this along for god knows how long.

Sorry for not finishing what he started? Not sure that would go over too good.

Sorry for shootin' Inez? Yeah, well, he was sorry for that, last night he'd been sorry he missed, hope word of that didn't get out. But now he was sorry he did it, sorry he hurt her.

Sorry for scarin' the shit out of 'em? They sure didn't deserve that. That's it then. Guess he was sorry for that.

The earliest glow of light began to filter through the morning mist. He pulled the pillow over his head to block out the new day, a day he had no right to be a part of, a day he never expected to see. Shit. What was he doing to his family? He chuckled softly. How many different families had he had? His mother and Murdoch, of course, but he had no memory of that. Then just him and his mother, they made a family and no matter what she did, or didn't do he still loved her, missed her. Maybe, he was wrong about the gettin' over it part. Maybe his family wouldn't just get over it; he never did.

Inez and Tocón, they were his family. Him and Grayson, they were an odd sort of family. He shuddered at that thought. There were a few others over the years, people he stayed with, women he loved. They were all families of one kind or another. Not one of them ended well. Was it him, his fault? Could be. No way of knowin', but he had a pretty good idea.

Yup, can't get into any trouble stayin' right here, besides, how many times will he hear that question? That damn question. 'Are you all right, Johnny?' Dios, too many, that's for sure.

The first knock came early, the sun barely coloring the sky. It wasn't meant to be a knock, just a hand placed heavily on the door; it rested, pressed firmly, then traveled to the knob. He could hear it rub against the carved wood. With a creak, the door opened. Murdoch stepped softly across the floor, pausing briefly when a floorboard groaned.

"It's ok, Murdoch, I'm awake," Johnny spoke as he sat up slightly, repositioning his pillows to lean against, his eyes studying his bandaged hand in the dim light.

"Hurt?"

"Some."

Murdoch sat on the bed. "I'm heading out with Frank, thought we'd finish checking that fence line you and I started. Wanted to see you before I left, make sure you were alright."

Johnny spread out his arms. "Take a good look, here I am," he boasted with a fragile smile.

"Are you alright, Johnny?"

He sighed, pressed his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes. "Fine, Murdoch, I'm just fine. What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. The truth, maybe?"

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to keep hurting you."

"I know that, Johnny." He gave his son's leg a solid pat. "Sleep well?"

"I did, it felt good, still tired though, don't think I'm ready to get up yet." He yawned as he settled back down under the covers."

"That's ok, Johnny, don't rush. Scott should be around all day but Sam's leaving. Unless of course you've changed your mind and want him to stay."

"Makes no sense for him to be here. He has other patients; just wish I wasn't so ornery when I told him to go."

"You could tell him, I'm sure he'll want to see you before he leaves."

"Ya well, we'll see," Johnny muttered, as he rolled over on his side, back to the door.

On his way out Murdoch added, "Think I'll have him take Inez back with him. Can't say she had the effect we hoped for, Johnny. I'm sorry about that. Scott had his reservations and I should have listened to him. I was so sure she'd help you. Please forgive me, Johnny. I should have talked to you, found out what else she did."

"Murdoch, not sure what I would've told ya to do. I don't hate her, at least I don't most of the time, but I'm not sure I want all this added on top of what's already gnawing at me. She stirs up a lot of memories, memories I thought I buried long ago."

"I understand Johnny, but it seemed to me, everything might fit together somehow. Regardless, I should have discussed this with you and I'm sorry, Son. My intentions were good." He closed the door behind him.

Inez. He drew in a hissing breath, and pulled the pillow back over his head.

Next thing he knew… a knock. Different from the first, this one soft and cautious, but it woke him. A brief pause and it came again, Teresa, no doubt. At least she was waiting, not barging right in. He sat up, making sure he was covered. "Come in."

The door opened but no one appeared. "Are you decent?"

"If you mean am I covered the answer is yes. Decent is another story all together."

"Oh, Johnny!" Teresa's broad smile brightened the room. "Breakfast's ready, we're waiting for you."

"Don't bother, Teresa. I'll get something when I'm hungry," Johnny drawled.

"Johnny Lancer," she said with a foot stomp, "you need to eat breakfast."

"I will, I will, just not yet though. Is Inez up?"

"Haven't seen her. Imagine she's making herself scarce since Murdoch plans to send her back to Modesto. Between what happened last night with you and what she told us…" Her smile faded. "I'm so sorry, Johnny." She stepped deeper into the room, casting a sorrowful glance that caused him to drop his head. "…well, I guess he's not too pleased with her."

"She has no right tellin' you about me, about what happened. If I want people knowing that's my business." He punctuated his frown by crossing his arms over his chest

"Now Johnny, she wasn't being mean spirited, just telling her story. She's careful, guarded, reminds me of you a little."

Johnny relaxed a bit. "Tell me Teresa, what do you think of her?"

"Me? My opinion? Well, I like her, Johnny. Don't think I've ever met anyone quite like her before."

Johnny laughed softly. "No, don't imagine you have."

"She feels bad about what happened to you, Johnny, and she really wants to help, only thing is she's just not too sure how." Teresa walked to the window, spread open the curtains and caught sight of Inez walking toward the house. She scrunched up her face quizzically when she noticed Inez still dressed in the mud caked clothes from the night before. Teresa turned away from the window and looked intently at Johnny. "Please, give her a chance. I think it will do you good to talk to someone, someone that knew your mother, Johnny, someone that shares a piece of your past. You don't have anyone here like that. She can help you remember, maybe answer some of your questions. It's not good to only remember the bad. I know, when my father died it helped to talk to people who knew him, loved him. Please give her a chance, Johnny. I think she needs it as much as you do."

"I'll think about it, but…"

"Thank you, Johnny," Releasing the white muslin curtain, it drifted back into position. Teresa turned to Johnny and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "You won't regret it."

"I only said I'd think about it, Ter..." She was out the door before he could finish.

This stayin' put idea's not exactly working. Two of the people he's tryin' to avoid have already shown up. Best to get going, start movin' at least a moving target is harder to find. Caution forced a short wait before whipping off the bed covers, didn't need any surprises from Teresa popping her head back in with a 'one more thing' or 'you were saying' or that damn question which amazingly she didn't ask. A quick splash of water, - then pants. He'd become pretty good at the one handed button over the years, an unfortunate result of the trade.

Another knock, this time three quick hard raps, Scott, he always knocked the same. But this time he marched right in, didn't wait for an answer.

"What's the point of knockin' if you're comin' right in, Brother?" A grin slowly crept across the younger man's face. "It's good to see you Scott. Sorry if I didn't mention that yesterday, was wound up pretty tight."

"And today? You all right, today?"

Dropping his head at the question, Johnny bit his lip. "So far, feel pretty good." His head remained down. "About last night, Scott, I'm sor…"

Raising a hand in the air, Scott cut him off. "I know, Johnny, and I don't want to hear another word about that. You're alright and for that I am grateful."

Johnny picked out a clean shirt and began to put it on. Scott grabbed it from him, "Here let me help." And held it out. It was a tight squeeze but the bandage, splint and hand fit through.

Johnny sprawled back on the bed propped on his elbows. "Wish I weren't so damn tired. Had the best night's sleep of my life and still feel like I could sleep for a month. Damn, Scott. I don't like feelin' like this. It scares the shit out a me."

He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. "And last night, God, last night I felt..." He swallowed hard trying to push back the tears. "…I was crazy. Nothin' felt right, everything was wrong. I was wrong. It had to stop, Scott. I gotta tell ya, I was ready. It felt so right, so peaceful, dyin' never felt that way before." He stopped and looked into Scott's eyes, wide with a shared pain. "- never, not even when I'd been shot up, half dead, it never called me like that, never calmed my insides, never felt so safe." His voice got quiet as an awareness descended over him. "It's just like the call of a drug, Scott, when it claims your soul - sweet, warm and oh so welcome."

Johnny shivered and his bones seemed to soften as he slumped a little lower, his head dropped a little further. Scott moved to sit beside him.

"You're hurting, Johnny, and I'm sorry for that. I don't think all of us milling around last night did you one bit of good. And to make matters worse we blindsided you with that… that… woman. I wish I knew how to help you, thought I did, but I shouldn't have tried to dig up your past. I should have listened to Inez, seems she may be a little smarter than I've given her credit for. That first night when I begged her to come she asked me a question 'What good is there in digging up memories better left buried, memories your brother has struggled to escape from all his life? I fail to see how this could possibly be a good thing.'" Scott laughed softly. "Why was I so stubborn?

Johnny lifted his head to look at his brother. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, Johnny, why would I kid about a thing like that?"

"You act like your being stubborn is a new thing, Scott. Why should it surprise you now?" A smile came to Johnny's eyes and curled the corners of his mouth. "Thank you, Brother." He chuckled. "Stubborn, go figure."

Scott struggled against the smile that was working its way out. "Guess I have been known to be a little pigheaded from time to time, hey Brother? Seems to me I've had a couple of very good teachers."

They laughed together for a few moments then fell silent. "Thanks, Scott."

"For what?"

"Getting Inez. I don't want her to go. I think Teresa may be right."

"You sure about that, Johnny?"

"Yup, about as sure as I'm gonna be."

"Very well, I'll go tell her. See you downstairs soon, Johnny?" Scott was already in the hall, leaving the door ajar.

"Ya, Scott, soon," Johnny answered as he fell back on the bed, cuz what he really wanted was to curl back up, and sleep for a month. Maybe then this would all go away.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

Catalyst

Chapter 19

By Cobalt Jan

Sam stood in the open doorway, watching the young man sleep. Johnny's feet, clad only in white socks, dangled just above the floor. His body lay draped across the unmade bed, pants on, shirt unbuttoned. Sharply, Sam cleared his throat. "You planning to sleep all day?"

A feeble attempt to pull himself upright brought the doctor into view. With a groan Johnny fell back onto the bed, rubbing his eyes. "What do ya mean, Doc? Scott just left."

The doctor eyed his patient with disappointment, "No, Johnny, that was over an hour ago."

"Guess I'm havin' a little trouble getting' started." Johnny ran his fingers through his hair and sat up with a yawn. "Think you'd be happy after the stunt you pulled…."

"Yes, well I suppose in your opinion I may have overstepped by boundaries but I only did what I thought necessary, as your doctor." Sam set his bag on the bed and looked down at his patient and friend.

"Sorry, Sam, didn't mean anything by that." Johnny's eyes settled on his muddy boots. Dry now, some of the mud had fallen to the floor and begun to break apart, leaving a mess. A mess he woulda' heard about under different circumstances, no doubt about it.

"You most certainly did, young man, and don't bother to deny it. Now if it's alright with you I'd like to do a quick exam and be on my way." Placing a hand on Johnny's chin he lifted his face towards his own. "Facial scratches are almost healed. Any stiffness in your neck?"

"No, I'm fine."

"You're damn lucky you don't have a fever or worse. In your run down state serious infection was a distinct possibility."

"Guess I'm just lucky, huh, Doc? Don't I look lucky?" He asked with a crooked smile.

The stone-like façade faded as the doctor smiled weakly. "You look like hell, Johnny, nowhere close to lucky."

He grabbed the young man's wrist, checking his pulse, then heart and lungs with his stethoscope.

"I'm fine, ya know."

"So you keep telling me, but, as I recall, I'm the one with the medical degree." Sam nestled the stethoscope back into his bag and pulled out a pair of small scissors, sitting on the bed he cut away the bandages from Johnny's right hand.

"John," Sam said as he inspected the stitches, "We can't have a repeat of last night." He lifted his eyes to meet Johnny's. "When we heard that shot… I have to tell you… I thought we'd lost your father too. His face turned a most ominous shade of gray; I thought his heart would stop beating at that very moment. You can't continue down this path."

Johnny squirmed and looked away. "You about done here? I told ya I'm fine."

"If I'm not mistaken, the other day, you promised to give us time, time to let us try, before doing something foolish, Johnny. Not like you to go back on your word."

Johnny shot him an angry look. "You are mistaken. I never promised, Doc, think I said I could live with how I felt, that's not the same. Last night I couldn't. I won't apologize for that."

"So, instead of your family and doctor you turn to a stranger for help. I understand you want Inez to stay."

"First off, I'm not the one who brought her here and, yeah, I want her to stay. Not sure she can help anymore than you, but we have some common ground, she's no stranger to me, Sam, and talkin' to her might bring things in a little clearer."

"What happens if this clarity is not what you hope for, Johnny? She brought you to your knees last night."

Johnny closed his eyes and held his breath. "The only thing she's responsible for, Doc, is me bein' here right now. Nothing else." He opened his eyes and stared at Sam, the coldness of that stare caused the older man to shiver.

"However you figure it out is fine with me, Johnny, just get it done before anyone else gets hurt." His words were hard but his gaze was fixed and pleading. In a kinder tone he added, "And that includes you, John."

"Sam, I don't mean to seem ungrateful, but this needs to be me, my fight. Only I can figure out how to do this and you watchin' everything I do is makin' me jumpy and I'm thinkin' jumpy isn't a good place for me right now."

"I understand, John." Sam finished his task, snapped his bag shut and stood straight, stretching out his back. "Everything looks good. Just don't do anything foolish and I won't need to come back, deal?"

"Deal."

"Besides, I think I could forgive you anything right about now, since I don't have to ride back into town with Inez. That woman seems to thrive on annoying people."

Johnny smiled. He looked back at his muddy boots just as another clump of dried mud crumbled to the floor.

JMLJMLJMLJMLJMLMLJMLJMLJMLJML

Standing on the veranda, Johnny breathed a sigh of relief, as he watched Sam head back to Spanish Wells. Now if only his family would back off…

"Moving a little slow today?" Scott asked, passing his brother a steaming cup of coffee. "You look like you could use this."

Johnny looked down at the cup and its contents, for a moment, not particularly interested in the bitter liquid. "Yeah, thanks," he said, cradling the cup in his hand.

"Have to admit you've surprised me, Little Brother."

"Ya don't say. And just how have I managed that?" Johnny asked with a tilt of his head and a squint of his eyes.

"You haven't asked for your gun back, figured that to be the first thing out of your mouth this morning."

"Good to know I can still catch ya off guard." Johnny flashed a smile.

"You don't want it?" Scott asked dipping his head to get a better look at his brother's face.

"Oh, I want it, Scott, but… might be better for everyone involved if it stays where it is for a while." He returned Scott's gaze. "Things went beyond me last night and someone else got hurt. What if it had been you or Murdoch or…" He held the cup to his lips and blew at the steam. "I don't have to tell you, Scott, I don't do things like that. It goes against everything I am." His voice quieted to a whisper. "Or thought I was."

In silence, both men stood shoulder to shoulder surveying their land. The sun was warm but would frequently drift behind large clouds; they stole its heat and cast dark shadows over the landscape.

Scott and Johnny's attention gravitated toward the lone figure leaning on the corral fence. Inez. Intently, she watched their newest foal. The mare kept an equally attentive eye on this stranger as her young colt pranced boldly about. Then he would hastily skitter back to his mother's side. The dance repeated itself, each time the colt would move closer and closer toward Inez, until the cautious mare put a stop to it by stepping between her little one and the unwanted stranger. Inez pushed off the fence and turned toward the house. She offered a halfhearted wave then spun back around.

Scott drained the last drops of coffee from his cup. "She's not an easy woman to talk to, Johnny," his brother advised.

"I know."

"Sure you're up for this?"

"Nope." Johnny stared into the dark liquid as he tipped the cup from side to side. Abruptly he flicked the contents into the dirt and passed the cup to his brother. "Be willin' to bet, I'll never be ready," he said with a tight smile. Wiping his sweaty palm on his pants, he stepped off the porch.

"You sure know how to piss people off, Inez," Johnny said as he approached. He leaned on the fence beside her.

She eyed the young man with the slightest turn of her head. "Years and years of practice, Juanito."

Lifting an eyebrow he made sure she knew that name was not acceptable.

"Johnny," she corrected.

"How's the arm? I didn't mean…"

"I know, ya just wanted me to shut up. You're not the first." She moved her hand toward the wound, then stopped. "Only hurts when I touch it," she said with a meager smile.

"Your talkin' can rattle bones, but, I hope I'm the last one to shoot ya for it." His fingers instinctively went to the beads on his wrist his eyes to the chestnut foal. Watching as he nuzzled his mother Johnny couldn't help but smile, pleased with this newest addition.

Inez placed her hand over his and the beads. "Can't believe you still have those, can't believe they've survived this long."

"They've been in pieces more than once but survived, like me I guess."

Silence resonated between them, both sets of eyes locked on the timeless ritual of mare and foal.

"They're beautiful, Johnny. This place is beautiful."

"It is." Johnny replied with a dip of his head. He felt his chest tighten. He was indeed a lucky man. Unfortunately, these recent memories left him feeling undeserving of such luck. Living here, he'd allowed himself to get comfortable, feel safe, two things he swore would never happen. Not in his lifetime. Lately those feelings of comfort and safety were rare, and deeply missed. "Not sure what everyone expects from you, Inez." Johnny stated hesitantly. "Not sure what I expect from you." He turned his head and studied Inez's profile.

"It's my understanding, that with my gift of gab, I'm supposed to just come right out and tell you, you didn't kill your mama. As if those few words are going to make this all better. Sometimes hope makes people foolish, Johnny. And I despise fools."

"My head tells me I could never kill her, Inez, but I've killed so many. The things I remember, the things I see, and then, what I could have done to you last night… if I'm that reckless now… was I that reckless then? Dios, Inez, she was my mother. How can you be certain I didn't do this?"

"I know for certain you were not alone. I know what I've been told and I know what I believe to be true."

"Not alone. That's not what I see. I only remember me and Mama, there was no one else." Eyes squeezed shut, he searched through the jumble of memories for any sign of someone else there. Nothing. "Damn it, Inez, why can't I remember? I need to know in my heart not just my head. Can we do this, Inez? Is this even possible?"

She moved in close, placed a hand on his back. "I'm gonna try, Juanito, We're gonna try." There was a moment of silence then Inez spoke again, softer. "Tocón was there. He saw, Juanito, he saw everything and told me."

Shaking his head, Johnny laughed coldly. "Tocón? And you believed him? Who's the fool now, Inez? Not sure he'd be the best witness. He got kinda' mixed up sometimes. Reckon he'd tell ya I didn't do it just to save my skin."

"Well, that's all I got," she brooded, "and I believe what he told me and I believe you could never hurt your mama."

"I need more than that Inez. I can't take the word of… of… Damn it Inez, he had the mind of a child!"

"Children often speak the truth, Johnny."

"That may be true, but just as often they tell you what ya want to hear. I'm afraid that's what you've been holdin' onto, Inez, and I'm not about to pin foolish hopes on that."

"If that's the case then perhaps I should have left with the good doctor." She gathered up her skirt and turned to leave.

Johnny moved to follow. "That's not the only reason I want you to stay," he drawled in a voice as gentle as the hand that came to rest on her arm. "To be honest I really didn't expect much. Can't say I'm disappointed." His smile was warm but fleeting.

Without moving Inez sighed heavily. "I confess to being motivated by guilt, a need to clear my own conscience. If I could help you, now, maybe it would make up for the wrongs you've suffered, some at my hand, some not."

Turning her around, slowly, Johnny wrapped Inez in his arms. Shuddering sobs racked her body as years of anguish surfaced. Johnny held on tighter. There were no words, nothing he could say. He simply held her until she'd cried herself out. With her face buried in his shirt she struggled for words through quivering breaths. "I regret… so many… things. If… only I… could have been there…. If only I could have… stopped it… if only…"

Lifting her face he wiped away the tears. "If only - carries a lot of weight, they're hard words to live by."

"Suppose so, but it doesn't stop me from wishin'. Wishin' we could live that day over. It started out good, remember?" A wistful smile touched her lips."

Johnny nodded.

"You were so excited, so full of plans. You spent weeks learning that song on the guitar. She would have loved it, Juanito. I still hear it at night when I'm falling asleep, remember how it went?" She hummed the lilting tune then smiled.

"Yeah, how could I forget? Was pretty tricky but we did it." He smiled a rich, full smile that was mirrored by Inez. "Tocón would gather you up by the waist and dance 'round the room. What a sight that was. Half the time he'd lift you right up off the floor. And the look on your face!" There was a full bellied laugh coming from the young man now which Inez shared.

Taking Inez by the hand Johnny pulled her into the courtyard, away from Scott's watchful eye. They sat together on a bench reliving many of the pleasant memories of their shared past. A contented silence descended over the pair.

"Tell me, Juanito, tell me what you recall of that day."

"Don't have much practice takin' about it, Inez."

She placed a tender hand on his cheek. "I know, hijo, but you must try."

Johnny leaned back against the wall and drew in a long even breath. "I remember waking, anxious to start the day. There was so much to do. I woke mama with a cup of the tea she'd been drinking because she hadn't been feelin' too good and gave her about the biggest birthday hug and kiss I could muster. She smiled and brushed the hair from my face." The memory brought a smile to the corners of his eyes

I rushed out the door crashing into Socorro as he turned the corner. "Watch where you're goin', boy!" he bellowed. Then, grabbing my arm, he lifted me out of the way as he said, "Seems I'm always fussin' with the garbage 'round here. If you know what's good for you, you won't be showin' your face 'round for the rest of the day. Your mama's got work to do."

Squirming to get away, I told him, "Mama's still feelin' poorly and were havin' her birthday today so leave her be!"

I remember Socorro's face clouding with anger. Even though he wasn't much bigger than me he was stronger and his rage added to that strength. Spitting out his words, he yelled, "She hasn't brought any money in for days. What do I run a fucking mission; offering a roof to a sick whore and her mestizo bastard? She'll work today or you will."

Mama came to the door looking much better than she had in days and watched Socorro's tantrum. "Leave him be, Socorro," she said. "I can work." Then she looked at me with a smile and told me, "It's ok, Juanito. Run along and have fun. I'll see you later."

"That's the last time I saw her, until I walked in with that fuckin' bird." He frowned, and then continued. "I ran back a few times to check on her that day, but each time Socorro would be sitting outside, his chair tipped back against the door, and he'd send me away. It became just like every other day, no better, no worse."

"Then I went to see you, and we practiced more until I had whole song memorized. The gift was perfect. We were both pleased and knew Mama would be too. Then, as a treat, you made me and Tocón that steaming chocolate with cinnamon and we dipped in your sweet bread. Remember Inez?" His voice was almost that of a child.

"I remember, Juanito, I had saved that chocolate from my last visit home, saved it for a special day. It seemed the right time. It brought me great joy to see the two of you so happy." Inez wrapped her hands around Johnny's. "You need more of these memories, of good times, they'll help you get through the bad ones, you'll see"

"We were happy, weren't we Inez?"

"Yes, Johnny, I believe we were, at times and we have good memories of just the three of us too. But, I fear, the bad are more powerful."

They sat side by side in silence.

Maria came into the courtyard with a tub of steaming water then scuttled back into the kitchen. When she returned, she carried two dead chickens. Dropping them into the hot water she again retreated to the kitchen. A few minutes passed, she returned and pulled the chickens from the water. Sitting on a bench she held one by its feet and began to pluck it clean.

It was a scene Johnny had watched many times before but, today, with the memories of his mama's final day fresh in his thoughts the sight caused him to cramp up. A long shuddering sigh passed his lips as he curled over and rested his arms and head on his knees. He wanted to cry, prayed he would cry but no tears came. He felt Inez's arm wrap around him and he was back, back in that village. The sights the sounds the smells, suddenly the warm golden memories just shared quickly turned. He was running, running home with the chicken, an extra gift for his mama, stolen, killed and freshly plucked. It would make a fine broth, since she had been so sick. Memories darkened to fiery red images of yelling, hitting, fighting. Then blood, his mother's blood. There was so much. Rising to find a towel he slipped in it, fell back into the expanding pool. That's when he noticed the knife in his hand. He looked from it to his mother's eyes those questioning eyes and felt the horror churn in his gut. He yelled at her, grabbed her hand, tried to make her hit him, swore he would find his father and pleaded with her not to leave him alone. She opened her mouth to speak; there were no words only more blood. He watched as the life slowly faded from her dark eyes.

Johnny slumped against Inez as she continued to hold him, kiss him lightly, and coo, "Its ok Juanito, it's ok. Let it come, let the memory come. Inez is here. It's ok."

Slowly he lifted his head, eyes red, face streaked with tears. "I remember."

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

Catalyst

Chapter 20

Morning mist still hung lazily in the air, dissolving as Frank and Murdoch approached the fence line. Only two days had passed since he and Johnny were out here, two very long days. Murdoch's chest heaved as sparks of vivid memory forced him to relive his son's anguish. Watching Johnny wrestle with that tragic piece of his life was one of the most difficult things Murdoch had ever endured. His son's pain - so intense - only physical pain made it bearable. Perhaps that's how it always was and always will be.

Thanks to the previous night's rain, the rocks where they rested were no longer decorated with his blood. Everything cleansed, restored back to normal. If only it were that simple. Murdoch ran a calloused hand down his face.

The greater tragedy was the fact that this memory was just a small piece of that life. A single afternoon, an hour or two, which, when added to other unbearable hours made up the heartbreaking existence of his young son's life. And how much of that existence did he, his own father, know? Very little. None actually.

Frank had moved further down the line. Plan was he'd turn back and they'd work their way toward a center point. Instead Murdoch found his mind wandering, remembering.

Why is it, Johnny expected only hate and anger in return for his confession? Why is it, he expected to be sent on his way? He should know he's loved, wanted, needed. Shouldn't he? He should know he belongs at Lancer, is Lancer and Lancer always takes care of their own. Why isn't that enough?

Murdoch pulled out his watch, glanced at it then returned it to his pocket. A dull ache filled his chest and he released a long, drawn-out sigh. It was ironic, that moment of supreme pain brought them to a moment of acceptance and understanding where Johnny revealed a small piece of himself, the history of his beads. But where had that closeness gone? Fleeting - lost to the rhythm of life in just a few days? Or was it merely the fault of their stubbornness?

Murdoch moved about, performing the required physical tasks, pulling on fence posts checking the tautness of the wire.

Fences. Built to keep things out or to lock up what's inside. Why was it he and Johnny were so very good at building fences? In fact, at this very moment, without even trying, their fences were being resurrected. Oh, they got along. There were no more fights, most of the time, but with that small victory something was lost. The hard words weakened those fences, allowing for bits and pieces of a guarded life to tumble through. Not much in and of themselves, but over time…

His watch was in his hands again, the open lid revealing the words etched in its surface. Murdoch closed his eyes, resting heavily on the fence post, the weight of so many years pressed down on him, making him tired.

"Mr. Lancer? Why don't you head back? I can handle this myself."

Murdoch still leaned against the post, lost deep in his thoughts, studying his watch. He closed the case and slipped it back into his pocket. Feeling eyes on him, he was startled to find Frank staring at him from atop his bay. "I'm sorry, Frank. Didn't hear you come up. Did you say something?"

"I said, I can handle this, go home." Frank leaned forward in his saddle.

With a wave of his hand Murdoch countered. "Nonsense, we'll get this done." His voice distant, lacking its usual commanding air.

Frank didn't move. He simply waited. A smile stretched across his brown skin. "How many times is that now, Mr. Lancer?"

"What?" Murdoch looked up at the man, puzzled.

"You took your watch out again, Sir. Seen you do exactly that all mornin', even as I came up on ya just now ya did it more than once."

"Guess I'm a bit distracted." He repeated the motion of opening the golden case. "Johnny gave me this watch," he said without looking up, instead his eyes remained fixed on the words, words his son chose, words he'd seen before, so many years ago. "Tiempo descubre verdad," he muttered. "If only that were true," he said louder.

"What was that, Sir?"

"Oh, nothing," he replied, with a snap of the watch case, "but I do believe you may be right. I'm not doing you any favors being out here and I'm sorry."

"We're all more than a little troubled by what's happened, Mr. Lancer. Johnny's a good friend and a good man. Course we hands don't know the whys and what-for's, as it should be, but we do know we miss him and wish to have him back." Frank shook his head, "If ya don't mind me sayin', rumors are spreadin' on what coulda' happened last night, Sir, and well, thank the good lord that lady showed up when she did."

"Yes, Frank, I suppose we should. Thank you and I'll let Johnny know." A thin smile flickered across the senior Lancer's face. "Think I will go back home." Placing his foot in the stirrup he mounted. "First hand I see I'll send out to help you. This really goes much smoother with two." Murdoch repositioned his hat and turned to leave before he'd finished speaking.

After locating a couple of hands and sending them off to help Frank, Murdoch settled into an easy gait. He knew his place was with his son but for some reason found it difficult to do the right thing. Murdoch Lancer - faced everything head on, why was this so different? If his son were ill or injured he wouldn't be running away. But his son was hurting and yet he was consumed by the crushing need to leave, both this morning and the day before. There were any number of hands capable of doing today's job and certainly Jelly could have taken care of things in town yesterday.

"Time reveals truth," he repeated the words, in English this time, "if only that were true." His horse's hooves, pounding on the packed earth, echoed around him, beating out those words, words he'd spoken so many times over the years. Since the very first time he saw them, on Maria's note. Just those three words and her ring, their ring. He drew in as sharp breath as the pain of that morning freshened.

What was he thinking? His place was with his son, yet this morning the urge to head out early was overwhelming. Why? Stopping to see Johnny relieved some of the guilt, but he'd only wished to see him, watch the rise and fall of his chest, know he was safe. Instead he was awake. What a fool, asking only if his hand hurt and if he slept well. Not one mention of the real issue, the night before.

What was he thinking? Suggesting, no, it went beyond the mere suggestion that Inez return with Sam. Granted things hadn't turned out as hoped, worse than imagined, actually, but Frank was right, if she weren't there… Of course, Johnny may not have tried if she wasn't there, but, in light of recent events, that was an unrealistic assumption. He may not have tried it then, but, it was only a matter of time before he was alone. It's not possible to watch him every minute and is that even the answer? This needs to be fixed, Johnny needed to realize… what exactly? Make him realize he didn't kill his own mother? But what if he did? What will happen then? Damn, Inez's the only chance at the truth and he'd sent her away. What was he thinking?

Making his way through the arch, Murdoch's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach upon noticing Sam's buggy gone. At the barn, a stable hand quickly moved to take his boss' horse. "Sam's gone?"

"Yes, Mr. Lancer, he's gone. Is someone in need? I'm sure I could catch him." Murdoch found this eager gesture oddly comforting.

"No, son, last I knew we were all fine." Thank you, though." Murdoch couldn't help but smile inwardly and placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. "And Inez, the woman, did she leave with him, as well?"

"No Sir, he was alone."

"Murdoch!" Scott called out from the barn's roof as he lowered the tool box to the ground. He then descended the ladder, jumping from an upper rung with ease. "Didn't expect you back so soon."

"Change in my plans. You've changed yours as well, I see. What on earth are you doing, Scott?" He looked from his son to the roof and back again.

"Just fixing a few loose shingles. It was the perfect day," Scott said, removing his hat then wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm.

"And what made today perfect?" Murdoch asked, leaning with one hand on the ladder, the other stuffed into his pocket.

"To be honest, Sir, Johnny and Inez. He pulled her into the courtyard and I wanted to see what was going on." Scott lifted the tool box and placed it just inside the barn door, then removed his gloves.

"And? Did you learn anything by your spy tactics, young man?" Murdoch removed his hand from his pocket and found he was holding the watch, again. He fought the urge to open it and jammed it back into the pocket.

"No, not a thing they're just sitting there, talking."

"I suppose that's a good thing. No yelling? Just talking?"

"Just talking." Scott nodded.

"Well, I'll take over from here." Murdoch turned away and walked toward the front door.

"Where are you going?" Scott's long strides caught up with him quickly.

"The kitchen. I'm starving and there happens to be a window that looks out into that courtyard. Or had you forgotten."

"So there is." A wry smile crossed the blonde's face. "Now that you mention it I'm a little hungry myself." He gave his stomach a few pats.

"Thought you might be, Scott." Murdoch winked. "Thought you might be," The elder Lancer placed a firm hand on his son's shoulder and steered him toward the house. "Now, fill me in. When I left Inez was to head back with Sam. What did I miss?"

"It would seem Teresa suggested to Johnny that she stay. He agreed."

The cool quiet darkness of the hacienda offered a welcome comfort from the day's warm humid air. All the cooling clouds of morning had long burned away.

"I suppose that was his decision to make." Murdoch admitted as both men hung their hats and gun belts. "It's gone well, they're making progress?

"It's been hard to say, Sir. They talked, Inez cried." Scott looked at his father and shook his head. His voice grew deep and pensive. "Never thought I'd see that woman cry, didn't even cry when she got shot. Hard as tack that one." His voice lightened "Then, surprisingly, they laughed. Johnny pulled her into the courtyard after that."

****

Murdoch and Scott stood on either side of the kitchen window, watching.

A tug of jealousy caused Murdoch to drop his head, finding it difficult to watch his young son with Inez. "They're talking. They seem comfortable, at ease. It's rarely like that with us." He looked at Scott then scratched his head while drawing a deep breath.

"He talks, Murdoch, you just seem to have higher expectations than the rest of us." Scott stepped across the room to stand by the small table, tracing the darkened burn marks with his fingers remembering a time he wanted more from his brother. "I, for one, no longer _need_ to hear anything from him. We talk about our day, things that happen on the ranch our plans and dreams. That's enough for me, now. I don't need to understand him, just know him."

Hidden from the outside, Murdoch stood behind the curtain, watching, aching for what Inez shared with his son. "That's where you've got me beat, Scott. I don't feel I know him at all. You've both been here more than three years now and while I believe I know the kind of men you are, I know you far better."

"Why isn't that enough? Simply accept what you do know and leave the rest. Why do you need more from him?" The tall blond returned to stand behind his father, taking in the older man's view.

"I wish I knew the answer to that, Scott."

"Maybe it's easier to know a man that's lived a familiar life. You knew how my mother lived; my life can be easily compared."

With the slightest turn of his head Murdoch considered his son's statement. "True. I know you ate well, slept in a proper bed, and when you were sick you were cared for, loved." He shifted his weight, looking directly at his son, his face a mixture of emotions. "You know Scott, as much as Harlan and I did not agree, he loved you. He would have done anything to keep you safe. Unfortunately, in his mind, that included keeping you from me. Can't fault the man, just can't say I agreed with him."

Looking back out the window, Murdoch sighed loudly. His broad shoulders slumped as he ran his fingers along the edge of the curtain. "But, for every detail I know of your life there is one I don't know of Johnny's and it eats away at me. I'm his father and I have a right to know these things."

Scott bristled. His back stiffened, adding a bit more to his height. "You speak of rights? You're asking a lot from him. You don't ask me to relive my worst times, the war and…"

Murdoch stepped away from the window, his hand moved to rub the back of his neck as he chose his words carefully. "You're right of course, it would be unfair of me to ask for details of that time in your life, but I can know you without that."

"So what makes this so different?" Scott's voice was firm, his hands resting on his hips.

"That's not how you grew up. And, truth be told, Scott, my need has been met by other sources. Articles have been written, stories told, and while they don't give me your firsthand account I feel they bring me closer to you."

From where Murdoch stood now he could see both his sons. His eyes moved from Scott to Johnny. "I don't have that with your brother. There is only one person who can give me what I need. As regrettable as it is, I need those years. To know him, to understand him to…"

"Love him?" Scott eyes narrowed.

Murdoch's eyes shifted to take in his son's questioning gaze. "No, I love him, you know that. And there are times, many times when his past makes no difference. I can go months and never be affected by it, but then, times like these, trying times; it's all I think about."

Both men grew silent and turned their eyes to the couple on the bench. Maria' entered the kitchen with the evening's meal. Chicken, two to be exact, freshly killed and bled now in need of plucking. She placed a small tub near the back door and filled it with steaming water. She bent to lift it.

"Let me help you with that, Maria," Scott offered as he stepped toward her.

"No, gracias. Esto es el trabajo de mujer. ¡Ahora vaya"! She scolded, with a wave of her hand. (_No, this is woman's work. Now go._)

"I do believe I've been put in my place." He feigned injury pressing a hand to his chest with a broad grin.

A small smile brought life to Murdoch's face. "So, it would seem, Scott. So it would seem."

Their thoughts settled back over them, stripping the smiles from their faces. They returned to their places, one on either side of the window. Watching as Johnny pressed his back against the wall, deep in conversation with Inez and watching as Maria set down the tub.

Murdoch reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch. Opened it, studied it for a moment or two then slid to back into its rightful place. "Look at them. She knows things about him we'll never know, Scott, and it kills me. Those years should have been mine. Did she know about me? And if she did why didn't she bring him here after his mother died. Wouldn't that have been the sensible thing?"

"Well Murdoch, time has a funny way of giving us the truth. Maybe your time has come. Look at what happened with Dan Cassidy, all those years he spent hating me until the time came for the truth to be known. "

Scott looked at his father. He was smiling. "What? What did I say?"

"It's just funny you say that. I've been looking at this watch all day. The one Johnny gave me our first Christmas." Murdoch pulled out the watch one more time, opened it and read it aloud. "Tiempo descubre verdad,"

"And that means?"

"Time reveals truth, I've never told Johnny, but when Maria left there were two things on my bedside table, her wedding ring and a note. There were three words on that note. "Tiempo descubre verdad,"

Maria had been busy while they spoke. She hummed softly as she walked out the door and pulled the birds from their feather loosening bath.

Murdoch felt his stomach tighten when he saw the look on Johnny's face. Puzzled as to what caused this his eyes traveled across the courtyard to Maria, sitting on a bench plucking one of the chickens. "Something's wrong. I've seen that look before, the other day. This isn't good, Scott." He moved toward the door. A heavy hand stopped his forward motion.

"Leave him be. This is what we want."

"But, it should be me not her, I'm his father, it should be me." Murdoch's voice trailed off as he studied the scene before him. "It should be me."


	21. Chapter 21

Author's note: I have started this chapter with a combination of the endings of chapters 19 & 20 for a smoother transition.

Chapter 21

It was a scene Johnny had watched many times before, but, today, with the memories of his mama's final day fresh in his thoughts, the sight caused him to cramp up. A long shuddering sigh passed his lips as he curled over and rested his arms and head on his knees. He wanted to cry, prayed he would cry but no tears came. He felt Inez's arm wrap around him and he was back, back in that village. The sights the sounds the smells, suddenly the warm golden memories just shared quickly turned. He was running, running home with the chicken, an extra gift for his mama, stolen, killed and freshly plucked. It would make a fine broth, since she had been so sick. Memories darkened to fiery red images of yelling, hitting, fighting. Then blood, his mother's blood. There was so much. Rising to find a towel he slipped in it, fell back into the expanding pool. That's when he noticed the knife in his hand. He looked from it to his mother's eyes, those questioning eyes and felt the horror churn in his gut. He yelled at her, grabbed her hand, tried to make her hit him, swore he would find his father and pleaded with her not to leave him. She opened her mouth to speak; there were no words only more blood. He watched as the life slowly faded from her dark eyes.

Johnny slumped against Inez as she continued to hold him, kiss him lightly, and coo, "It's ok Juanito, it's ok. Let it come, let the memory come. Inez is here. It's ok."

Murdoch felt his stomach tighten when he saw the look on Johnny's face. "Something's wrong. I've seen that look before, the other day. This isn't good, Scott." He moved toward the door. A heavy hand stopped his forward motion.

"Leave him be. This is what we want."

"But, it should be me not her, I'm his father, it should be me." Murdoch's voice trailed off as he studied the scene before him. "It should be me."

Slowly, Johnny lifted his head, eyes red, face streaked with tears. "I remember."

Slipping from Inez's touch he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. With his bandaged hand he wiped his face dry and released a long steadying breath. "Still a lota holes, but… it's comin' back." He growled softly, "Not sure I like it."

"Just let it come. It is what it is, Juanito. Past." Seated side by side on the small bench in the courtyard, Inez tucked a leg under her skirt and leaned sideways, facing her young friend. Cautiously she sent plump fingers forward to smooth his tousled hair.

He recoiled at her touch, frowned. "I'm sorry, Inez. None of this is your fault and what do you get for your trouble? Shot in the arm, sent on your way, insulted. It's just that…"

"You need to realize this isn't your fault either, Juanito. No matter what you remember, it wasn't you who caused this. Sometimes things get started and… and well they can't get stopped. You of all people should understand that. There is really only one thing you need to remember."

With a tilt of his head and a lift of his chin, Johnny looked at Inez.

"You need to remember you're not alone here." She reached out once more, but Johnny jumped to his feet. For a short time he stood, motionless, feeling stiff and off kilter. Not alone? Why then did he feel so completely alone? Isolated. Solitary. Exactly the way he'd felt for so much of his life, an army of one. A force to be reckoned with.

But, this time it was worse. Where had that army gone? Where was that force now? Here he was, facing the biggest battle of his life, and he'd been deserted, left completely alone with nothing but the fear, the fear of the things he'd done.

Was it just last night he'd sought that escape? It seems a lifetime ago. Running from the pain? Since when did he run from anything, especially pain? You'd think he'd be used to it by now. But he felt so very alone. He knew he had family and friends just waitin' to jump in and lend a hand. But… to do what? What could anyone do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Only he could do this. John Madrid Lancer, army of one, and up till now he hadn't done a very good job.

Heaviness seeped into his bones, tugging on each and every muscle. His eyes focused on shadows as they twitched over the dusty earth. Shadows cast by the leaves that hung from the lone tree in the courtyard. There was little in the way of a breeze, but it didn't take much to cause those dark shapes to squirm. Gathering every bit of his strength, he inched his leaden body toward the low stone wall that surrounded that solitary tree. Dragging his heals in the dirt, the effort to lift them too great. His burden left him no choice but to sit.

He sat on that wall, out of Inez's reach. He didn't want to be touched, not now, not by anyone. No matter the gentleness or the intent, it still hurt. Everything hurt. The meager action of drawing a breath used untold effort. Just sitting upright took nearly all his concentration. Maybe this was good, this distraction. Maybe remembering wasn't worth it. Maybe if he just cracked open a brand new bottle of tequila all this would go away. Shit, who was he trying to fool? He'd tried that and it didn't work. Hell that never worked. Least wise not for long and the headache that came galloping back with it would be a very high price to pay. Nope, truth always has a way of nudging' ya when you least expect it. All ya need to do is sit back and pass the time, just like Mama. She had a way of waiting, real patient, for the truth.

"Tiempo descubre verdad." The words floated softly from his lips catching him off guard. He hadn't meant to say them out loud. They pulled on his weary mind, reminding him of where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. "Mama used to say that. Remember Inez? Whenever I lied or hid somethin' I'd done. Kinda funny the way she was always right. Time always did reveal the truth. And now… will I learn the truth, after all these years?"

He lowered himself the short distance to the ground. The wall only reached his shoulders so he was able to lay his head back, all the way back, looking straight up through the branches. The leaves barely shook. Maybe this tree was as tired and worn out as he was. His hands trembled from the pitiful effort and his heart beat with a fierce intensity, the same intensity as that day. That day that changed his life. That day he felt the white heat of pure rage for the very first time. Felt the need to kill. Shit, what kind of boy feels the need to kill? "Shit. This is not good. This is not good."

His eyes burned dry. There were no more tears.

Johnny sat completely still. Head back, eyes closed, legs stretched out before him, hands resting in his lap. Many minutes passed before he finally spoke. His first words were strong and clear. "I remember running home. Out of breath. Excited. Ready to give Mama the best day I could. I remember thinkin' I was happy." He snickered. "Happy. I was a fool."

"You were ten. You were supposed to be happy."

Lifting his head from its stone pillow, Johnny gave Inez an icy stare. "I was a fool. Fool to think I was happy, maybe a fool to think I could ever be happy. I know it sounds crazy but, it feels like that's what did it, that's what started the stampede. Just the thinkin'."

His head dropped back down. He was quiet again, sifting through the memories. "When I reached the casita I realized I'd left the guitar behind. I stopped. Not sure if I should run back and get it…" His voice sank then resurfaced as he raised his head. "Voices caught my attention. It was Mama and Socorro." He studied Inez, brows knit with a look of confusion. "She wanted to send me away." His voice lacked its original fortitude. It was child-like, drenched in pain.

"No, Juanito that could not be true." Inez shook her head. "You see? You are mixed-up, confused. She would have told me. But she didn't, this could not be true."

Nervously his tongue slid across his lip. He tasted the saltiness of his sweat. "No Inez, I'm not confused, not now. I see it as clear as I see you." His words gained strength, all hint of the child gone. "Socorro walked out the door. He was still takin' to Mama. 'It's settled then…' He stopped when he saw me, smiled a sick kinda smile then went on 'Tomorrow I leave with the boy.'

"'Sí, mañana.'" Johnny's voice lost its potency. Repeating her two simple words caused his heart to stop beating. They were just regular words, words he'd used before and since. How did they manage to swing so much weight? Just two words. Words that sliced like a knife through the air, gutting him now, just as they did then.

"How could she send me away? With him? Why not you? Or a stranger? But Socorro?" His expression reflected the pain and disbelief. "She knew what he did to me, how he treated me. How was it possible?"

Johnny bent his knees and pulled them in close to his body. Maria returned to the kitchen, unnoticed. Murdoch stood in the doorway, watching and listening. The words he just heard caused him to gasp. Scott's grip tightened on his father's shoulder.

"I just stood there, Inez." He laughed a soft edgy laugh, his voice, cold and distant. "Can only imagine the look on my face, cuz Socorro's smile got bigger, he stepped close, I could smell his breath. Made me want to puke." Johnny cringed, that very same stench filled his nostrils now. He was thankful he hadn't eaten.

"When he spoke his words dripped sweet 'Guess we'll be takin' a little trip, boy. It'll be fun, just the two of us.'" Johnny sucked in a trembling breath, the fear fresh as he felt Socorro's finger run across his cheek.

"Seems I forgot about the knife, just meant to push him away, but I cut him. Not bad, but, enough, enough to… set him off. Not that it took much."

Johnny swallowed hard. With his eyes closed he could see the way Socorro's face twisted from sadistic pleasure to red hot rage. "He was fast. Pulled a knife. Grabbed a fistful of my hair. I remember the blade, cool against my skin, then the blood. He yanked hard on my hair. Flung me back against the wall." Moving his fingers, Johnny touched where the blade entered his throat, pressed in just far enough to draw blood, make a point.

"This time I remembered the knife. Went for him, wanted him dead." The intensity in Johnny's voice faded. "His boot connected. My blade did not. The knife and that fuckin' bird hit the dirt before I did."

"He looked at me, laying there in the dirt and laughed. 'We'll have plenty of time for games Nino, plenty of time.' As he walked away, I think I heard him whistling." Johnny shivered, unable to control the fear, disgust and rage brought on by the memory.

Murdoch stepped from the doorway. Inez caught sight, raised her hand and shook her head. He frowned, stopped moving forward but didn't retreat.

"Not sure how long I sat there."

He stopped for a moment, resting his head on his knees, tying to get the shaking out of his voice. "The bird laid there, covered in dirt, crushed by the scuffle. Not much good to anyone, anymore. Kinda like me. But I picked it up anyway, that and the knife."

There was another silence, punctuated by the haunting sound of Maria as she crooned a melancholy tune. It wafted through the air adding weight to the moment.

"Things are a little foggy after that." His voice slowed as he searched his memory. "I remember walking through the door. Can't say I remember feeling anything. Don't think I was mad or cryin' or… nothing. Just all balled up inside."

"I can see her, standing there, both arms leaning on the table, her head down. When she lifted her face it was dark and angry. She started right off screamin' at me. 'You have to prove him right don't you? You steal and expect me to be happy? Why can't you be a good boy, Juanito? Why do you bring me shame?' I think she was cryin' but I'm not really sure. Her face was red and ugly, her temper in full swing."

The stillness was gone. Johnny stood. Began to pace.

"I felt the anger, start in my stomach and spread out from there. I threw that fuckin' chicken at her. Hit her right in the face. And she laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh."

"I didn't know what to say, what to do. I asked, Why Mama, why? I heard the ache in my voice and that made me angrier. I felt my hand tighten on the knife. It made me feel strong, more of a man. I wasn't gonna let it go. I remember that. There was no way I'd let that knife go."

"She walked toward me. 'So, you heard?' Her voice was kinda sweet and calm, but, her face and her words, those damned words, said somethin' else. 'Seems I've made a few mistakes in my life and one of them is you. Socorro will fix things, you'll see. It will all be for the better."

"I pushed her, can't believe I did it but her words stung, bad. I had to let her know."

Johnny continued to pace, his nerves evident in the bounce of his step and the constant movement of his hands.

"She came at me, shoved me back against the wall. Knocked the knife from my hand. I remember the sound as it clattered against a table leg. I pushed back. I couldn't help it. I'd never hit Mama; never raise a hand to her… I loved her." Johnny's face darkened. "But I was so angry, so very angry. And scared. I yelled. 'Where? Where am I going? Not that I'll get there with that pig. How could you?'"

"She told me it was for my own good. 'He'll take you back to Lancer, he promised. That life can only be better than what's in store for you here. It's the only way. You have to believe me, you need to leave. I was wrong to bring you. You belong at Lancer.' I was supposed to believe her? After all she'd told me of Murdoch Lancer?"

"Well, I didn't. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Lancer? All my life she'd told me he hated me, us. 'How can you send me there? I thought you loved me, wanted me. I won't go. You can't make me go. Not to Lancer and not with Socorro. I'll kill him before he takes me any where. Not him and not Lancer! Never!"

"I picked the knife up from the floor, headed for the door. She grabbed me. Spun me around and slapped me, hard, across the face." Johnny's hand traveled to his cheek, the pain as fresh today as it was over twelve years before. "'It's for your own good. You must believe me. You will do as you're told!'"

"No I won't. Let me go. I'll kill him and then I'll kill anyone else who tries to take me there. You said he hated us. We'd end up dead if we went back and now that's where you want to send me? Do you hate me that much? Let me go!"

Johnny's eyes were wild his breathing hard and fast. Sweat formed on his brow, he protectively wrapped his arms around his belly as his knees buckled. He sank slowly to the ground, head hung low and was silent. Only the sound of his breathing.

Murdoch had moved closer now. Unnoticed. He could almost reach out and touch his son. But he didn't. He waited, waited for the worst to come, the death of his beloved Maria and the agony of his son. Both he and Inez watched as Johnny wrestled with this final memory. The memory that held so much power.

Johnny sat back on his haunches. His sorrowful face looked at Inez. "You knew. You knew all along."

"You knew it was me, my fault from the very beginning, but not me alone. I remember as she spun me around I saw Tocón, standing in the doorway, his eyes wide. He saw her hit me, saw the blood, my blood drip from the corner of my mouth. I watched as something in him changed. His eyes lost their life. It all seemed to happen so slowly but… He grabbed at my hand. Tried to get the knife. He was so strong. He stripped it from me went toward Mama. I tried, tried to stop him. Jumped on his back. Grabbed his hand. I felt as the knife plunged into her belly. My hand still covering his. I watched as Mama looked at it then at Tocón then at me. Her eyes filling with silent tears. The blood, there was so much blood. Tocón shook me to the floor and ran off. I yelled for him to get you. Hurry, get Inez I said. Mama looked at me. Tears rolling down her cheeks. I pulled out the knife. My knife.

TBC

7


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Johnny's last words were punctuated by silence. It descended over the four inhabitants of the courtyard, like a blanket. Not with the comfort of a warm quilt but with the weight of a sodden wool blanket, heavy, uncomfortable and inescapable. It weighed on them, holding each person in place. Johnny knelt on the ground. Inez sat crumpled on the bench. And both Murdoch and Scott stood there, unable to free themselves from the smothering silence.

It was Scott who first shed the silent bond. He moved closer to his father, whispered in his ear. When he received no response he tried again, this time adding a gentle touch. The hold was released and his father's large frame came to life with all the awkward grace of a marionette. They looked at each other. Scott's face reflected Murdoch's heart, a mixture of relief and concern. With soft pressure Scott nudged Murdoch toward Johnny. The older man lowered himself onto one knee, close to his son, but he didn't reach out, didn't speak.

Lifelessly still, Johnny kept his head low and his bandaged hand cradled in his lap. His eyes seemed to focus on that hand, the hand that would have covered Tocón's. The hand, that pulled the bloody knife free. The hand once crushed by an angry man's boot. The hand Inez feared would never work again. The same hand that eventually proved to be his salvation. But at what cost, since it also opened up countless doors of sorrow and heartache? These thoughts overwhelmed Murdoch and his heart ached for his son. Yet, at the same time he felt a great relief that it wasn't his son who killed his wife. One less burden for this young man to carry. Would it be enough? Maybe now Johnny could find some modicum of peace.

Fear kept the older man's voice at bay. There was no way to speak softly enough, gently enough. His mouth moved, attempting to offer comfort, but the words caught somewhere in his throat. Deep down he was afraid, afraid if he spoke too loudly, or at all, the silence would shatter, and he'd watch his son do the very same. What was intended as words of gentle assurance finally burst forth as a guttural rumble. It passed involuntarily from Murdoch's lips as a shiver rocked his shoulders.

At that moment Johnny's weight shifted forward. He rose on his knees then, without assistance, pushed himself to his feet. Murdoch followed suit, keeping a hand at the ready in case it was needed for support. Johnny dismissed it and flashed his trademark grin. Not the one that came from deep down lighting up his entire face but the conscious one, the one he used to mask the trouble brewing within. Murdoch took some pride in at least knowing the difference, most times. It was the eyes that told, and right now Johnny's eyes were cool and ominous. They carried the same weight as the sodden blanket.

"Don't do this, John." Murdoch spoke, shaking his head and reaching out a tentative hand.

"What?" Johnny snapped.

The offered hand retreated and slid into Murdoch's pocket. "Don't pretend this doesn't bother you."

"Why should it, Murdoch? I've learned the truth. I should be fine, just fine. Don't you think, Inez?" The smile remained but the sharp edge to his voice was disconcerting and left a chill in the air.

All three men turned toward Inez. She remained on the bench staring into the dirt, fingers wrapped tightly around her cross. Johnny took the two strides that brought him directly in front of her. He crouched. "Where'd you get that?"

Inez lifted her eyes. Studied his face then pulled the cord up and over her head. The cross swung between them. "You know where."

Johnny snatched it from her hand and walked quickly to the entrance of the courtyard. He stopped, keeping his back toward the others and leaned against the door. Holding the cross at eye level he watched it dangle from its silken cord, twirling back and forth until finally coming to rest.

The approaching shadow stretched long and lean across the pebbled ground. "You alright, Johnny?" Scott asked.

Casting eyes skyward, Johnny heaved a heavy sigh before turning to face his brother. His eyes narrow slits of irritation, his voice uncharacteristically loud and angry. "Do I look alright to you, Scott? Cuz I gotta tell ya, sure don't feel like punchin' no cows or breakin' no broncs or answering no fool questions from you!" He dropped the pendant to the ground and with the heel of his boot twisted it into the dirt before walking away.

The slam of the front door caused everyone's shoulders to jump.

Murdoch moved to follow his son, but stopped, deciding it best to let him calm down for a moment or two. Or was he simply doing what he always did? No, not this time, soon he would be with his son, only - not just yet.

He watched Scott bend to pick up the discarded jewelry. Their eyes met as Scott walked passed him. They acknowledged each other, one with a shake of the head the other a questioning shrug.

"I believe this is yours," Scott said, rubbing the dust from the cross with his fingers. "It's beautiful. Care to explain, to us, where it came from?" He looked from the woman to his father and back again. The cross cupped in his palm.

Inez began to reach for it then shook her head. "No, it belongs to Juanito. You will have to ask him." She pushed his hand away as she stood. Looking intently from one man to the other she smoothed the front of her dress and ran her hands over her tightly pulled hair. "I would like to return to town. That bearded gentleman can take me. Senor Hoskins, I believe."

"Jelly?" Murdoch questioned. He thought for a moment then added, "No… I don't think so. I'm not sure you should be on your way just yet."

"And why not?" Inez asked indignantly. "Seems I've accomplished what you asked of me. I have a business to get back to."

"Yes, but…" Murdoch hesitated, "there may be more, maybe once all this sinks in Johnny will have some questions of you. I'd prefer if you stayed at least until we know from him."

Inez sighed. "Very well, I will wait for Juanito, but there is a limit to my patience."

"Yes, of course." Towering over her, Murdoch put his large hands on her shoulders. He squeezed gently. "Thank you," he said, and moved off in search of his son.

Scott followed, matching him stride for stride as they made way for the house.

The door, having been slammed shut with such force, stood slightly ajar. Inside, the sun had been stingy with its warmth and was equally miserly with its late day light. Only vague outlines stood where the furniture belonged. The men moved slowly. Their eyes and ears sought signs of Johnny's trail.

As they stepped deeper into the room there were some signs of life. The sweet scent of onions and peppers melting into a pan, the tapping of a wooden spoon and the clatter of dinner dishes told of the activity in the kitchen. In contrast the great room was quiet and dark. Murdoch struck a match. The odor of sulfur caused his nostrils to twitch as the yellow flame flared and he lifted the glass from the lamp.

"Would rather ya didn't." The soft voice came from the large armchair directly in front of him. Murdoch quickly blew out the match.

"Johnny." Both men said in a mixture of relief and surprise.

"You were expecting someone else?"

"No, but not sure we were expecting you, exactly. Do you mind a little company, Brother?"

"No-o-o, I don't mind. But you might."

Scott plopped onto the couch with a loud whoosh of breath. "Doubt it. We're not looking to be entertained but I sure could use a drink. Murdoch, care to pour? Johnny?"

"No. No, thanks." He drawled.

Murdoch poured two whiskeys, his eyes growing accustomed to the dimming light. One he handed to Scott the other he sipped, enjoying the warmth and immediately feeling his tense muscles release ever so slightly. Suddenly realizing he'd not eaten since breakfast the wonderful aroma from the kitchen started his mouth to water. He sat heavily into the armchair across from Johnny and leaned forward, hoping to keep his growling stomach under control. Resting his elbows on his knees he rolled the glass between his palms.

Reaching forward with his toe, Johnny pulled the hassock closer. Arms folded across his stomach he sank low in the chair and put up his feet. He drew in an audible breath. "I'm thinkin'… I owe a few apologies. Can't say I've been myself lately…"

"Say no more, Johnny, it's been a long week," Murdoch said, lifting his glass and enjoying another sip.

"A very long week." Scott added, mimicking his father's actions.

Johnny's soft laugh escaped through his nose. "Is that all it's been? Feels like a lifetime."

"For you, Johnny, it was." Murdoch closed his eyes and tried to sort through the week's events.

Shadows dissolved into the darkness as the three men sat quietly.

"Think I'll light a fire." Murdoch spoke as he stood and set his glass on the mantle. "There's a bite in the air tonight and these old bones are beginning protest."

"Your bones aren't the only thing protesting. I can hear your stomach from here. Tell ya what, I'll start the fire, you go get yourself some supper. That goes for you too, Scott."

"And what about you?" Murdoch made no attempt to hide the concern in his voice. "When was the last time you ate something, Son?"

"Hmmm," Johnny grunted with a dip of his head. "Can't say I remember. If it'll make ya happy you can bring me something but…"

"I know, I know, no promises." It was Scott's turn to show concern.

"That's right, Brother, no promises."

By the time the two men returned from the kitchen the room was awash in the fire's tawny glow. Johnny was back in the armchair looking as if he'd never moved. Scott carried two bowls of Maria's arroz con pollo and Murdoch carried one and a basket of warm rosemary scented biscuits.

"Apparently Inez suggested everyone eat in the kitchen tonight, she thought we wouldn't want to be disturbed," Scott said as he handed Johnny his supper.

With a tilt of his head Johnny gave him a crooked smile. "That sounds like her. Thanks."

"Don't mention it, but I'd prefer to watch you eat some."

"Tell ya what. I'll have one of those biscuits." He pointed toward the basket as he set his bowl to the floor.

Scott snaked his hand under the crimson cloth and into the basket. "They do smell good," he said and tossed one over.

For a little while the only sound was the soft scrape of spoon on bowl. Neither Scott nor Murdoch ate with gusto, but the food was good and their stomachs were empty. Johnny took a few bites from his biscuit but mostly just looked at it, held between thumb and forefinger he examined it like a nugget of gold or a precious gem. He sighed then tossed his treasure into the flames. Sparks took flight momentarily brightening the room.

"Thought I'd feel better, thought the knowin' would… Just thought I'd feel better is all."

"Johnny, it's still fresh, it needs time, you need time." Murdoch felt his attempt to reassure missed the mark.

"Maybe you're right." He sighed. "All these years, always knew Mama was dead but never could remember the how." He paused and pulled at his bandages. "Knew that was a piece you needed and knew you couldn't understand why I wouldn't give it to you." His eyes met his father's for a moment then looked away. "Each time we talked of her I could see the question in your eyes, so we stopped the talkin'." His gaze returned to his father. "How could I tell you I didn't know? I was there, but I didn't know? What kind of person did that make me?"

It was Murdoch's turn to look away now. He felt the penetrating stare of his son, both sons, but had no idea of what to say. He said nothing, stood to retrieve his glass of whiskey from the mantle and finished it.

After a short pause Johnny continued. "It was Inez that told me Mama was dead. Guess she had to do it more than once on account I was so messed up after being dragged. Each time I woke up… well, I uh… just wanted my…" The objectivity in his voice slipped away. It became low and edged with emotion.

"Broke my heart each and every time you called for your mama." Inez spoke as she positioned herself behind Johnny.

The scent of warm cider brought the flicker of a smile to Johnny's face. From where she stood, her hand traveled around from the back and she rested the mug near his hands. After a gentle touch of thanks, he wrapped his hand around the large cup.

Inez leaned in closer and kissed the top of his head before turning to rest her cheek in his dark hair. Johnny sipped the fragrant liquid. "At first it was easy, I'd just say she was resting and move to get her. Before I'd leave the room you'd have drifted off. But, as you grew stronger you needed to know. Pity is, you'd never remember and the next time those beautiful eyes opened I'd have to break your heart all over again."

Inez straightened and looked at Murdoch. "I'm sorry. I've overstepped. Meant only to bring in the cider. I have no business being here, this is time for family, excuse me." She turned to leave.

"No, please stay." Murdoch surprised himself with his welcoming tone. "That is, if Johnny wants you to stay. Johnny?"

"I'd like that. She and Tocón were all the family I had for a while." Tilting his head back as far as it would go he tried to look at her. Inez patted his cheek.

"Sit here." Murdoch gestured from his new position, elbow resting on the mantle, empty glass dangling from his fingers. This time the tone was decidedly less welcoming and more of an order. Catching himself, he quickly softened his tone and added, "Please."

After looking into each man's face Inez accepted the offer.

Dark eyes fixed on Murdoch. "I want you to know, I did everything in my power to protect your son. Of course, moving him when we did may not have appeared sound, poor Juanito was in no condition to travel, but I assure you it was necessary. And it did work, for a time. If only Tocón…" Her voice trailed off and her eyes slipped away from Murdoch and lost themselves in the flames. Shifting her gaze again, the look she offered Murdoch told of her desperate love for his son. "It would seem I was unable to protect anyone, not Juanito and certainly not Tocón."

"What happened, Inez? What happened to Tocón?" Johnny asked as he sipped more cider.

"Oh, Juanito, words spoken in deceit have a funny way of becoming true. Socorro's blade may not have killed Maria but it was his blade that killed Tocón."

Johnny frowned and pulled the mug from his lips. "Figured he had somethin' to do with it. Didn't think you would have told them where to find me unless somethin' real bad happened. You worked too hard to keep me safe." Johnny dropped his head. "Tocón." The name slipped out, soft. "I'm sorry, Inez. Trouble sure had a way of findin' a man like that, too bad that trouble was me."

"Hush, Juanito. He would have done anything for you and you know that. Probably never should have told you it was Socorro but didn't think it could harm anyone. You couldn't hate that man anymore than you already did. And I could never bear to see you hate Tocón that way."

"Couldn't." Johnny shook his head. "It was just Tocón doin' what he always did, bein' the big brother." He turned toward Scott and gave him a knowing smile. "Who knew I had a real one, just as protective?" The smile faded as he turned back to Inez. "He had no way a knowin' it wasn't right. How could I hate him for that?"

"That's easy to say now, Juanito, but then you were so angry, so full of hate. I'm not sure what you would have done."

Scott leaned forward from his spot on the couch and gave his brother a solid pat on the knee then rose to refill his glass. "Anyone interested?" He asked, holding up the whiskey bottle.

Inez spoke up. "I was hoping to leave you with a pleasant surprise after I left, so I slipped a bottle of that Macallan scotch you liked so much into the cupboard over there." She pointed. "But, at the risk of sounding selfish, I sure could use some right about now, if you don't mind."

Scott smiled, pulled the bottle from its hiding spot and poured generously. Murdoch gave an approving nod and extended his arm.

Johnny shook his head at the offer and raised his mug of cider. "Just can't figure why she'd send me off with Socorro? What was she thinkin'? Didn't she believe me?"

"The man could be a smooth talker and it was his job, Juanito. Grayson paid him real good to play the hero. But, rumor was, Grayson's money was dryin' up. And folks believed he was headed back to claim what was his, you and your mama."

Nodding in appreciation Inez accepted the glass from Scott. She took a sip. "Now, if there's one thing I knew about Socorro it was he followed the money and if Grayson's was dryin' up then maybe he was looking for something else." Her eyes shifted to Murdoch. "Maybe Maria had him convinced you'd pay somethin' to get your son back. Not sayin' it was true just sayin'. Maria could spin a pretty colorful tale herself."

She sat for another moment. "Juanito, do you know what became of Socorro? Both him and Grayson? Never heard a peep out of either of them again."

"Can't say for sure about Grayson, when we parted company he was still alive, barely. But as for Socorro, he's definitely dead. Hell, he was the first man I ever killed."

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Johnny sat up in his chair and looked from one face to another. Questions, each face held nothin' but questions and he didn't feel like spillin' any of the answers. Nope, not one. "Think I've chewed on enough history for one day." He kicked away the hassock. "If ya don't mind, I'm goin' to bed."

"I mind," Half sitting on the back of the couch Scott sounded annoyed. "You can't just drop Socorro's and Grayson's names like that and just leave it there."

"Can and will, Brother." A push got him up from the chair and he set his empty cup on the mantle.

Standing there, in front of the fire, Johnny studied his father. Murdoch leaned on the mantle. His eyes lost in the darkened edges beyond the fire's glow, focusing on things only he could see. His usual straight back was hunched, his shoulders curled. To a stranger this was a broken man, a man with nothing left to lose, but to Johnny this was a man lost in a painful past. A man he recognized only too well.

There were new wrinkles carved into his features, deep furrows making him look older than his years. Murdoch looked like Johnny felt, old and tired. Maybe they were just the shadows cast from the flames or maybe this strong powerful man, his father, was overpowered by these ghosts and the words he'd longed to hear for so many years. Stories have a way of not being what you imagine and the truth can hit you hard, in places you'd never expect. The thought forced the air from Johnny's lungs.

"Bed." Murdoch's weight shifted along with his eyes. His voice sounded thin, carrying none of its usual weight. He cleared his throat regaining some of the usual timbre. "That's a good idea, Johnny. We could all use a good night's sleep." His feeble attempt at a smile did nothing to erase the weariness from his face.

"I guess that's supposed to mean it sounds good to me as well." Scott's words hinted of indignation. He began to gather up the bowls and the basket of biscuits.

"I'll take those," Inez said reaching to take the dishes from Scott's hands. He nodded and passed them off to her. His eyes followed her as she walked to the kitchen.

"What would you have me do with this, Johnny?" Scott asked, pulling the pendant from his pocket. Stepping in the direction of his brother he allowed the cross to swing from his outstretched hand.

"You can give it back to Inez. It belongs to her."

"Funny thing, Brother, she said it belonged to you." Johnny's eyes narrowed. He took the wooden cross.

"Is there anything else I can get you gentlemen before we call it a day?" Inez asked walking back into the room.

Johnny turned slowly, walked to the sofa and sat on its arm. He caught hold of Inez's wrist as she passed, pulling her to a stop. He could see something in her eyes, when they fell on the cross. What it was he wasn't sure. She wouldn't look at him, kept looking at a spot on the floor. He forced their eyes to meet. "You went back? Why?"

"That is difficult to say. Perhaps I thought you would be safe, that you would be waiting for me at the mission." She shook her head. "Speak of a fool." Lowering her eyes, she took her hand back from Johnny, looked at it and busied herself by rubbing a thumb over her palm. "But I waited too long, tried to forget, thought I could drink enough to forget, and then went home, back to my family – thought I could forget." A somber laugh marked her words. "I was a fool. How could I forget? How could I forget Maria? Tocón? You? That was not possible – not ever."

"Too long? Inez, an hour, a day, a month… what difference would it have made? Do you really think it mattered? Probably would a just got you dead." Johnny stared at the cross, its cord draped over his bandaged hand. He felt more tired than he ever thought possible. "Some things I've tried so hard to remember and others I would give anything to forget. This is one of those things." He held out his hand. "Here, it's yours."

"Perhaps it is something you should hang on to. Perhaps it is something you need more than I."

Johnny stretched his back and closed his eyes. He drew in a long calculated breath in an attempt to calm his racing heart. When he opened his eyes his gaze returned to the cross. "It's made from ironwood, not easy to work with. That's why it's so plain. It took hours, got a few scars to show for it too."

"Ah, yes, but its splendor comes from within." Inez stepped closer, pressing her palm to his chest. "The heart of the wood holds its beauty, does it not?"

Stark against the white of his bandage, Johnny studied the grain of the wood, its contrasting swirls. The wood was hard and the tools he'd had to work with poor. He blinked to fight the sting in his eyes. "It was for you, Inez. I wanted it to be ready…" Lifting his head slowly, blue eyes met dark. "…ready for Christmas, ready for when you came back." He paused, the expression on his face darkening, his eyes icy cold. "But it wasn't you, was it?"

Inez pulled away. Instinctively her hand reached to pull the cross from her blouse, but it wasn't there. It lay in Johnny's hand. She stepped back, her eyes locked on Johnny's. "I'm sorry," she murmured then quickly turned to leave, bumping into Scott.

Eyes fixed on his son, Murdoch spoke thoughtfully. "Inez? Could you make some more of that tea from last night? Hopefully it will help Johnny get to sleep. "

She nodded, but didn't turn around. "Tea? Yes… good idea." Scott stepped aside and she quickly left the room.

Murdoch reached out to his son. A heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder and pulled him in close. "I wish there was something I could do, something I could say, but I'm at a loss, Johnny, I'm sorry."

"Ya, well, not too sure what you got to be sorry for. I'm goin' to bed." He smiled weakly.

Shoulders brushed when he walked past his brother. He stopped. They stood with their backs to each other. "Scott, don't worry ' bout me. I'll see ya, tomorrow,"

Scott turned and gave Johnny a solid pat on the back. "Wouldn't have it any other way, Brother."

"One of us will bring up the tea when it's ready, Son."

"Not sure I'll need it, but, thanks."

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, Johnny looked up, his eyes taking in each and every step. Dios, never had there been so many. His tongue ran across his upper lip and he looked back at the couch. It sure could be mighty comfortable, but the room was still stirring with people and some peace and quiet would go a long way toward makin' him feel better. He'd been with people all day and a dull ache behind his eyes was making itself known. Finally, looking back up to the top step, he forced his leaden legs into a slow ascent. The thought of climbing into a warm bed spurred him on.

With his feet firmly planted on the top landing he felt like he'd won some kind of prize. One hand leaned against the wall and he took pleasure in his victory. Guess maybe he did win a prize cuz waiting at the end of the hall was his pillow, his bed, his room. And he liked the sound of that. For so many years there was no such thing. Something out of a dream, not how real people lived. There were times when his life here felt like a dream. And at those times he was afraid to close his eyes and go to sleep, fearing when he woke it would all be gone. But tonight was not one of those times. Tonight he'd gladly welcome sleep no matter what it brought. He was that tired.

"Johnny?" Teresa's voice came from the darkness. "Do you need any help?"

"No, Teresa. I'm fine, just goin' to bed."

"Not moving too fast. Sure you don't need a hand?"

"Nope, I'll get there." Keeping his palm pressed to the wall he took a few more steps down the darkened hall. "What you doin' in the dark?"

"Honest? I've been sitting on the stairs, listening. How else is a girl supposed to learn what's going on around here?"

He knew she was moving closer as she spoke and he half expected her touch when her arm laced through his. What he didn't expect was the kiss she planted on his cheek. A smile tugged at his lips. "What was that for?"

"Just because. Because I'm glad you found out the truth. And I'm glad you didn't…"

"Me too, Teresa, me too."

"But, I am sorry it was your friend. I was talking to Inez and... You two were good friends, lucky to have had each other. I hope you believe that, from what she said, Tocón did." They stood at the door to his room. Teresa opened it and sighed. "It's a shame good things can't last forever, isn't it Johnny?"

"Ya, would be nice, Teresa, but just how would we know what was good if the bad stuff wasn't there to remind us? Just kinda seems we need both."

"You're a wise man, Johnny Lancer, and I know I'm lucky to have you." She held his face in her hands and kissed him gently on the forehead. "Good night."

"Good night," he said closing the door. He leaned back against the carved wood and squeezed his eyes shut. Alone. Shit, the last time he was completely alone he held his gun to his chest ready to pull the trigger. Dios, to come so close, "What was I thinking?" There was no thinkin' - only a need - clawin' inside, beggin' to be set free.

If Inez hadn't been there what would he have done to his family?

Eyes open made little difference. The room was dark the air cool. He stepped away from the door and with a heaviness he didn't expect dropped the cross to his bedside table. The noise startled him.

Focusing on an ordinary task he unbuttoned his shirt, one button then the next, awkward with the one hand but comforting in its sameness. Soft cloth slid off his shoulders settling on the floor with a whisper. The bed creaked when he sat on its edge and pulled his boots free. With a conscious effort he placed them side by side on the floor, quietly. Next came the buckles and belt, pants and drawers. He stood before the open window and drew a slow, deep breath. Felt his lungs fill with the cool night air - held it until his chest ached then took pleasure in its unhurried release.

- A breeze stirred. He reveled in its affect, his skin bumping to the chill, sending a shiver across his shoulders. He rubbed his hand over his shoulder, down his arm then chest, stomach and beyond, feeling his own touch, noticing the sensations of scars… muscles… hairs. He'd been numb for so long, feeling nothing, only pain. Pain and the all consuming need to escape it. This felt good – this livin' again.

He spoke softly to only those who could never hear. "I'm sorry Mama, so sorry. Wish I could a stopped him, wish…" The sound of his sharp intake of breath cut through the air. He shook his head. "No." Not takin' that road where regret lurks in every shadow. Ain't like me to go wishin' for things. She's dead, been dead and no wish is ever gonna change that.

Maybe she wasn't wrong. Sure as hell remember those endless months livin', just me and Grayson. Could a'bin worse. Could a watched him do to Mama what he did to some of them other women. Sure as shootin' would a done anything to keep him from hurtin her that way – anything. Bet she knew that, bettin' she felt the same about me. Maybe she wasn't wrong.

He slid between the sheets. They felt warm against his cool skin, scratched a little, smelled of home and he felt safe. He closed his eyes. His fingers touched where Teresa kissed his forehead and the hint of a smile stretched his lips. He remembered his mama's kiss, each night before he could fall asleep; the kiss that told him everything would be alright. And right now, at this moment, he desperately needed that to be true.

JML

Johnny didn't hear the creak of the door or his father's deep voice call out his name to announce the arrival of tea. He was lost in a dream. A dream that had him eleven years old again and back in a small adobe shack, waiting. Anxiously awaiting the return of a woman he believed loved him and wanted him. He was waiting for Inez.

She left weeks ago, promised to be back by Christmas. And Christmas was almost here. He knew it because if he listened real hard he could make out the faint song of the mission bells each morning. The Padre told him, the one time he visited, that he rang the bells every morning the week before Christmas, at midnight on Christmas Eve and every morning after Christmas until Día de los Reyes.

So far Johnny heard the bells for five days straight. That meant Christmas was just a few days away. The Padre begged for company on his return journey. Said he'd vowed to watch out for the boy, but he regretted he would be unable to walk the two hours again until after the season, it being such a busy time and all. Johnny refused to leave. This was home, his home, and at nearly twelve he was old enough to take care of himself. Besides, when Inez returned someone needed to be here. And she would return soon, very soon – she promised.

Johnny was ready, just as he'd been ready every night since he first heard the bells. Beans and bits of meat simmered on the small fire. The water jugs were full. He even washed up, Inez never liked him to go too long between baths and it had been a while. He wanted to make Inez happy when she returned – she promised.

Each night it was getting harder and harder to be so sure. There were so many things that could happen on the trail. He should have gone with them, wanted to, but Inez wouldn't let him. Said it wasn't safe. Dios, if not safe for him how was it safe for her and a half-wit. Grown-ups sure were hard to understand. But she would be back – she promised.

Crouched before the fire Johnny watched his cook pot. The bubbles rose to the top, bounced around a bit then popped. He played a game guessing which one would pop first. Most times he was right. Inez would be sad when she returned, he knew that, knew she'd miss her brother, but he was ready. He was clean, the casita was swept and her gift was finished. He wore it around his neck. It was the safest place. Pulling it out he looked at it and couldn't help but smile. He'd done a good job a real good job even the Padre said so. The cross would be sure to put a smile on her face.

There was a noise. He heard it right off, sat quiet waiting to hear it again. He did. Someone was coming, trying to be quiet but not doin' too good a job. Best not go running to the door like some kind a fool. He checked for his knife, knew it was there but needed to touch it just to be sure. He was smart enough to be ready. Never knew what kind a people would wander through, always best to be prepared. But no matter how much his gut said be careful his head convinced him it was Inez and he opened the door hopin' to see a familiar face.

It was a familiar face all right, only not the one he'd been hopin' for. Not one he ever hoped to see again. Socorro stood there; lookin' at him, all smilin' and skittish and behind him, another face, one he'd seen before but in the shadows couldn't place right off. But he had a pretty good idea.

"Ain't ya gonna invite us in?" Socorro asked all sweet like, his eyes darting about the room. His knife pressed to the hollow in Johnny's throat. They were about the same size now and stood nose to nose.

"We don't need an invitation, Socorro, we're practically family," The other man said. "Besides we're here on a mission of charity. Come to get this poor unfortunate boy at the request of a friend."

Johnny backed up allowing the two men to enter. The knife still pressed against his flesh. His eyes locked onto Socorro's. Hate rose from the pit of his stomach, he felt its heat burn into his heart.

"You can put that away, Socorro, I'm sure this young man has more brains than you. I don't expect him to act foolish." Grayson's voice was calm and controlled. Johnny eyed him carefully, tried to size the man up. He was tall, well dressed, and carried about the nicest rig he'd ever seen. Johnny's eyes kind a settled there taking it in and the man noticed.

"You like guns do you, Boy?"

"Si."

"That's, yes Sir, Boy. Do you understand?"

"Si, I mean yes, Sir."

"That's better." He smiled a nice kind a gentle smile and Johnny felt his shoulders relax. "Would you like to take a look at? Hold it?"

Johnny's eyes widened, "Could I, Sir?"

"Don't see why not." And there was that smile again. He drew the gun out slow, spun the chamber to empty the bullets into his palm then snapped it shut with a flip of his wrist. He passed it to Johnny.

"Do you think that's wise? Socorro asked skeptically. "That kid's about the slipperiest thing I ever did see. Watch your back Grayson, that's all I gotta say."

"Coming from you, Socorro, that is complete nonsense, he's a fine young man." He turned to Johnny; put a hand on his shoulder. "See how it feels - heavier than you'd expect. Once we have a few things figured out you can try it. Have you ever fired a gun, Boy?"

"No, Sir can't say that I have." Johnny handed the gun back and watched Grayson reload it then spin it on his finger before sliding it into his holster. He was impressed. Most men he knew carried knives – no guns. Guns were expensive and didn't do ya much good if you couldn't afford bullets. Most folk he knew couldn't afford food so bullets were kind a out of the question.

"Well, I could teach you, if you think that's something you'd like to learn."

Johnny just nodded, thoughts racin' 'round in his brain. Shootin' a gun. Oh, yes that was somethin' he'd like ta learn and learn good. Just off the top of his head he could think of two men he hated enough to watch die and one of them stood right here in this room. He looked up at the man. "You Grayson?" He asked feelin' pretty sure of the answer.

"Yes, Horace Grayson, at your service." He extended his hand and shook Johnny's with a firm grip. "It's nice to know my name precedes me. We've seen each other a few times, just were never properly introduced. Your mama and I were… uhm… what you'd call old friends."

"Is that what it's called?" Johnny watched as the smile left the man's face. The muscles in his cheek twitched.

As fast as it left the smile returned. "My, my you are a quick one. I do like you John. It is ok if I call you John?"

"That's my name, suppose you can call me my name." Johnny was feeling confused. Always been told to watch out for this man but he found he kind a liked him. There was something familiar about him, something that reminded him of his mama. Nothin' like Socorro, nothing like the other men his Mama'd entertain. It didn't hurt none that this man didn't seem to think much of Socorro. Nope kind a helped in fact. But he had to be careful, had to not be stupid. "How come you're here? Why not Inez?" He asked, surprised at the unease in his voice. He took a deep breath. "Was 'spectin' Inez is all – she promised."

"Well, John…" Grayson crouched down got himself right at eye level. "I'm afraid there's been a change in plans. You see, we met up with Inez and had a long talk. Seems givin' up her brother was bit harder than she thought. She needed some time, so I offered to help out. Don't worry, none. In a couple months we'll meet up with her and you can decide just where you want to be."

"Ya, well, what you want with a kid anyway?" Johnny was trying to ask the right questions, trying to listen to his gut. And his gut was screamin to get out as fast as he could but his head kept saying this wouldn't be too bad as long as Socorro didn't tag along.

"Ya, Grayson." Socorro got real interested. "What you wantin' with some god damn half breed. Ain't worth horse shit if ya ask me. But I've heard stories. Heard his Pa might be looking. Heard there just might be a reward. That's what I'm thinkin' we otta do. Get a piece of that reward."

Grayson stood up and glared at Socorro. There went that muscle in his cheek, twitchin' again. "I'm afraid you've got that one all wrong, Socorro. I happen to know firsthand Mr. Murdoch Lancer wants nothing to do with this boy. Kicked both him and Maria out when he was just a babe. Why if I hadn't come along when I did there's no telling what could have become of them."

Johnny looked from one man to the other. He sure couldn't figure out what either one of them was talkin' about. Can't say Grayson bein' around did much good. Dios, how much worse could things be? His Mama was dead, his best friend was stayin' with some fancy doctors on account he couldn't think good no more and the woman he thought would take care of him had left him with these two. And Socorro, he was even crazier. Thinkin his old man would pay cash money to get him back… At least Grayson had the sense to repeat what his own mama told him.

"I'm just sayin' we should see what we can get for the boy then if his old man don't cough up any cash we can do things your way. And in the mean time we can have a bit of fun with him. He sure is pretty, ain't he?" Socorro stepped in real close.

"Back away, don't be scaring the boy. Your plan, if you could call it that is imprudent. In fact, the way Maria told it - one half breed was bad enough but the moment she told him there was another on the way, well he snapped. When I found her she was pretty badly beaten, the baby she was carrying never stood a chance."

Johnny couldn't believe what he was hearing. Always knew his old man wasn't worth his spit but now… Dios… he was worse than Socorro. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea maybe he just needed to find his way outta here. He caught Grayson lookin' at him. By the look on his face, Johnny figured he looked about as good as those words made him feel.

Grayson reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a shiny silver flask. "I'm sorry, John. I just assumed you knew. Here, looks like you could use a sip of whiskey, Boy." The bottle was under his nose. Didn't smell like anything he ever drank before not that he had much experience. Tocón got his hands on some whiskey once and they drank it. Swore never to do it again after they puked up everything they drank and then some. But this sure didn't smell like that, worse, but Grayson kept pushin it at him. So he took a sip of the vile stuff and fought not to have it spew right back out. "There now, just give that a few minutes and you'll feel much better."

Damn if the man wasn't right. He felt his muscles go all soft and for a little while he didn't have a care in the world until he realized, all of a sudden, he needed to take a piss. Headed for the door. Forgot that first step, nearly said hello to the dirt but made it to a bush, there was a thought – maybe should make a run for it. Maybe there was nothin' good in there that needed to be gone back for, maybe… maybe…

Dios. He felt the hand rub the back of his neck then the lips press close to his ear. "Would you like a little help with that?" The numbing warmth the whiskey spread through every muscle was gone. Replaced by an icy cold, his brain snapped to full awareness. He reeled planting a solid fist on Socorro's jaw sending him sprawling into the dirt. In a heartbeat Johnny was on him pummeling him with fists aching to inflict as much damage as possible.

The shot rang out. Johnny's fist stopped in mid air and Socorro squirmed to get to his feet. Grayson stood there with a huge grin, showing more teeth than Johnny thought possible. The silver streaks from the moon gave him a ghostly appearance.

"What's so funny?" Socorro asked wiping the thin trickle of blood from his nose.

The smile vanished from Grayson's face. "Funny? Nothing is funny Socorro. Your behavior is not the least bit funny. But your little antics have given me a wonderful idea and solved a problem for me as well."

The plan caught Johnny by surprise and to say he wasn't scared shitless would have been a lie. But at the same time it was all pretty damn exciting. Socorro was almost cryin', sayin' he was no good with a gun but Grayson kept repeatin' how John here never fired one so that makes us even. Not sure how no good and never done makes us even but that's what the man said. And he was callin' the shots.

Grayson's orders were clear. "Stand where you're told, hold your guns by your sides. On the call of three raise and fire. You have one bullet each so if you miss, too bad."

The count came fast. Socorro pulled the trigger first, click. Again, click. Could hear Grayson. "Go ahead, Boy. Pull the god damn trigger, you wanted to kill him, watch him die, here's your chance, Boy... Boy… Boy…"

Johnny woke with a start. Sat bolt upright, gasping for breath. Sensing someone with him he called out. "Who's there?"

"Just me, Son. Must have dozed off. You all right?"

"Yeah. Just fine, dreamin' sorta." He reached to his bedside table, picked up the cross. "Shit, that Grayson was one fuckin' bastard."

"If you want to talk, Son, promise I'll just listen."

The room wasn't so dark now. Maybe he was just used to it. Maybe it was because the moon had traveled far enough across the sky to cast a bit of light in through the window. Or maybe, and this was the reason Johnny liked best, it was because his father was there, sitting in the dark, just waiting to listen.

TBC

10


	24. Chapter 24 The end

End of Chapter 23:

The room wasn't so dark now. Maybe he was just used to it. Maybe it was because the moon had traveled far enough across the sky to cast a bit of light in through the window. Or maybe, and this was the reason Johnny liked best, it was because his father was there, sitting in the dark, just waiting to listen.

Chapter 24

"Was just a dream - nightmare really. Always wake up in the same spot, but it don't matter cuz I know how it ends. Not sure you wanna, though."

"Near as I can figure I've seen how it ends, Son, you, here, in this house, this family. It's time I let go of my need to know what happened to you and just focus on what's best for you. I've been selfish. Think I at least owe you an apology for that. That being said, I do still 'want' to know, but only if you're telling is for the right reasons."

"Fair enough." Johnny gathered up the jumble of bedcovers, the white of the sheets stood out against the midnight shadows. He pulled them close, and inched back against the headboard. Curling up, he placed his arms and head on his knees and closed his eyes. The night air dried his sweaty skin leaving behind a chill. He shivered. Listening, his father grunted softly as he rose from the chair. Johnny pictured him moving about the room. He focused on the sounds, attempting to block out the scene still flickering before his eyes. There was no surprise when he felt the warmth of a quilt wrapped around his shoulders.

Lifting his head, the gentle light allowed Johnny to see into his father's eyes. Not their color, but their love. He felt the knot in his stomach relax. Creating a warmth that went further to stop his trembling than the quilt. Large hands repositioned the pillows, pressed Johnny into their embrace and pushed sweat laden hair from his brow. Murdoch said nothing. But settled back into his chair and waited.

"I'm not crazy, Murdoch. But hate is mighty powerful, can make a man do things - believe things, things he's not proud of."

"Johnny, you don't have to do this… not for me."

"I know, and I thank you for that, but I think... I think I have no choice. I need to tell someone… never have…not one person… feels right tellin' you, Murdoch... tellin' - my father." He sat up pulling the quilt tighter around his shoulders. "Inez is right, you can't forget. Some things and some people just won't let go, no matter how hard ya try. The hatin' and this cross are two-a-the things. Grayson and Socorro are two-a-the people."

"You carry a heavy burden, Son, too much for one man. I know it's not always easy, but it does help to share. Not that I've set a very fine example."

There was a softness to this strong man's voice and Johnny allowed himself to smile at his father's admission. With a long slow release of breath he began. "You know the first part, Inez leavin' and all?"

"Yes she told us about that, she…" Murdoch's words faded off. "She told us about meeting those two men on the trail and of her brother's death. Tragic. I'm not saying what she did was right or wrong. That's not for me to say. But I will say she believes it was the best she could do. It's hard to find fault with that. "

'Ya well, seems to me she didn't need to draw them a god damn map." The pain in his voice took Johnny by surprise. The wounds still fresh after all these years.

"I was a kid, thought I knew everything. Thought I was as tough as they came. Well, I was wrong. Grayson planned this little shootout between me and Socorro. Guess he thought it would be fun judging by the grin on his face. One bullet each - makes it a fair fight, at least that's what he said. Only thing is, I was scared shitless, never fired a gun. Wanted Socorro dead, but wanted to squeeze the fuckin' life outta him with my bare hands. But a gun… that wasn't how it was supposed to happen." Johnny laughed a hollow pain filled laugh. "Saw it all in my mind – every gasp, every struggle until his eyes rolled back in his head and his leg twitched for the last time. Thought about it every day. The hate - only thing that kept me goin'. Hate for Socorro and…" his voice quieted to nearly a whisper, "and hate for you."

Turning his head, Johnny looked at his father. In the dim moonlight he took on the distorted grayness of a shadow. He sat motionless, leaning forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees. Listening. There was no reaction, not that this was news. No sigh, no shifting of weight, no disapproval of any kind. This silence was exactly what Johnny wanted and needed. He paused, enjoying the matter-a-fact acceptance offered by his father. The depth of his love for this man caught him off guard.

When Johnny spoke he'd gathered strength from the silence. "Grayson didn't gain his reputation as a gambler playin' by the rules, leastwise not everyone else's rules. He made his own. Socorro fired first, empty chamber… I stood there frozen in place, lookin' like a damn fool. Everything was happenin' fast, my head was spinnin'. Socorro kept pullin' the trigger, click, click, click. Grayson's screamin' at me to shoot…"

Johnny fell silent, the memories of that moment playing out vividly in his mind. There was a slight tremble in his voice when he started up again. "Click - one more empty chamber. Grayson's yellin' that's five and I finally come to my senses." Sucking in a breath he continued, his words slower, more defined but still strong. "Who knew pullin' the trigger could slow the whole world down. The sound took me by surprise. I watched Socorro's eyes narrow and his face get dark. Maybe things moved slow for him too. I don't know. But I think we both figured out at the same time his gun had no bullets, cuz those black eyes got all wide. Fear lived in those eyes for a bit, wild, like an animal. Then time took off like a jackrabbit…"

"Don't know who was watchin' that day. Kind a thinkin' it was the devil cuz I never knew God to have a sense of humor. Thought I was aimin' for his god damn head - hit him right between his legs, shot him in the god damn balls. I kept pullin' the trigger. Seems Grayson lied about a lot of things cuz my gun was loaded. Put all six shots in the bastard. Too bad I was just a dumb kid, cuz what I really should a done was put a few into Grayson, would a saved me a whole lot a trouble. But…"

Johnny shivered again. Wordlessly Murdoch shut the window.

"Ain't that ya know."

"I know, but I had to do something."

Johnny nodded then moved lower in his bed, pulled his pillow under his head and stared at the ceiling. Murdoch leaned back in his chair. The only sound heard was the repeated inhale and exhale of breath.

"I'm ashamed to say… killin' him felt good... damn good. Felt like no one could take me down and I liked it." He swallowed hard. "And I owed it all to Grayson." Johnny was silent for a moment then continued. "He walked toward me, pulled the gun from my fingers and put his arm around my shoulder. 'You did good, Boy', he said. 'Real good. Just a few more things and we can get out of this God forsaken place, get to a real town. Bet you'd like that. Wouldn't you, John?' It was like this man knew me, knew what I wanted. I'd have given anything to move on, see people, places. Anything."

"What happened next made sure I never forgot what a bullet could do. Ya see Socorro and I were about the same size, color. And Grayson figured if anyone came lookin' it would be best if they thought I was dead. So he had me pull off Socorro's bloody clothes. All the while pointin' out the damage my bullets did. Hell, he pushed a stick through the holes that would a killed him on the spot and the ones that would a left him beggin' to die. Said it was a lesson I needed to learn."

"Had ta put my clothes on him and his on me. Guess I was lucky cuz he did have a shirt and an extra pair of pants in his saddlebag. Not clean exactly, but not covered in blood and not full a bullet holes. Did have ta clean off his boots though. Grayson lifted the cross off my neck and tried pullin' the beads from my wrist. I wasn't about to let them go so pulled back and they went flyin', scattering across the yard. Grayson's face got red and angry. He raised his hand like he wanted to hit me but then he relaxed and pulled me in close instead. 'That's OK boy. The cross will be enough. Put it around his neck and get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us.'"

"Don't know what was wrong with me cuz I felt no need to run, found myself kind a likin' the man. Remember thinkin' I owed him somehow. He helped me do what I'd been achin' to do and for that – well, I was grateful." His voice hinted of regret.

"Sat there, listening to Grayson sleep… snuck a few more sips from his flask. Stuff didn't seem too bad anymore, almost tasted like cinnamon. All I knew is it sure made all the bad stuff go away. I gathered up what beads I could, stuffed em in my pockets – Socorro's pockets. Don't remember when I finally fell asleep cuz next thing I knew the sun was up and Grayson was shakin' me. When my head finally cleared he shoved a rifle at me."

Johnny turned on his side, tried to pull the covers tighter around his body. His voice became muted. Murdoch moved from his chair to the bed, placing a hand on the curve of his son's back. "We made damn sure no one would recognize the body when I blew his fuckin' face off."

Silence grew from those final words. Murdoch remained on the edge of the bed gently rubbing his son's back until the rhythm of his breathing slowed and his body relaxed. He continued to sit without moving - not wanting to interrupt these first fragile moments of slumber. When he finally stood he shook his head as he gazed at his sleeping son. For the very first time he understood, truly understood, his son's reluctance to speak of his past. He eyed the cup of tea - long cooled - and drank. Secretly hoping that sharing the burden did not mean sharing the dreams as well.

JML

The first flutter of lash was met by the sting of brilliant light. The curtain had been pulled open in such a way as to fall directly across Johnny's face. In response, he placed his forearm over his eyes allowing them to adjust to the brightness. Rumbling snores from the chair by the window told of his father's presence. Sneaking a peak through shaded eyes Johnny chuckled. Murdoch slept soundly, still shaded by darkness. His chin rested on his chest, his right arm sliding from the armrest into his lap then, while still deep in sleep, it was lifted back into position only to slip off once more.

The aromas of the morning meal made their way through Johnny's open door. Someone, no doubt, had been by, lifting the curtain and leaving the door open in the hopes of waking him - and it was working. There was the usual smell of coffee. In fact, a steaming cup sat on the corner of his bedside table. But there was more. Spices and peppers, cinnamon and the scent of something baking, familiar yet he couldn't place it. All these smells worked to yank him from his bed. Lifting the mug to his lips he enjoyed the familiar smell, blew away the rising steam and drank carefully. It tasted good. Returning the cup, he stood, and pulled on his pants. The bandages had loosened during the night and were getting in the way. He sat on the bed and unwrapped them, removing the splint. He looked at it his wound, ran his fingers along the stitches and shrugged. As long as he was careful this bit of fussin' was no longer necessary, he decided. Dressing became much easier and he quietly left the room carrying his boots.

Once downstairs he was greeted by Teresa's smiling face while Scott looked decidedly impatient. "About time, Brother, I'm starving and we're not allowed to eat until you are seated at the table, the decree of both Maria and Inez. It wasn't easy trying to wake you without disturbing Murdoch. So which was it, my idea to open the curtain? Or Teresa's idea to leave the door open?"

"You won, Boston, but it was Teresa that got me out of bed. But which one of you left the coffee?"

The two looked at each other and uttered the same word in unison. "Coffee?"

"Just goes ta show how ignorant you both are. Would a reckoned everybody knew coffee's the way ta get a man outta bed." Jelly walked from the kitchen, sipping his own cup of coffee.

All eyes watched him. "Hey, got me an invite to this highfalutin breakfast too and I ain't got all day like some people I know 'round here." His narrow eyes travelled from Scott to Johnny.

"Why Jelly I think we underestimate your talents around here," Scott said.

"Ya Scott, maybe we should put him in charge a wakin' the boys after a rowdy Saturday night." Johnny laughed.

"But, Johnny, I'm afraid some of that good brew might go to waste when they decide to pour it over Jelly's head."

"Humpf! At least they'd be outta bed. Before you go thinkin' 'bout giving this overworked wrangler more work to do 'round here let's eat, I'm about as sharp set as I ever been."

"Very well, Jelly, pull out that chair, if you don't mind, and let's get my little brother seated."

Scott moved behind Johnny and griped both shoulders firmly. He guided him to the table and planted him in his seat. "There! Now we can eat."

Standing at the kitchen door, Teresa held it open. Both Maria and Inez entered, each carrying a tray of food. "You know, Brother, for a while I didn't think we'd have anything to eat, the way these two fought over what to prepare. But, it appears they finally agreed and just decided to make everything. Hope you're hungry. I know I sure am." His fork went out before the platters were even set in place.

With his plate half loaded Jelly added, "Me too, been waitin' since sunup. My knuckles are sore from trying to offer a bit of my know-how. Cain't a man offer to taste without gettin' wacked with a gosh darn spoon? I mean, how's they supposed ta know if it's good or not?"

Johnny couldn't help but smile. It felt good to watch these people, people he loved, enjoying themselves. And by the looks of things they most certainly were.

"Come on, Brother, eat up." Scott said scooping up some sausage and egg.

Johnny looked at the array of foods and whistled softly. "Would ya look at all this food." At the same moment he discovered he wasn't quite as hungry as he thought. Chorizo con huevos, chilaquiles, & huevos motulenos, though long time favorites, didn't seem terribly appealing.

It wasn't until Inez and Maria walked from the kitchen a second time carrying with them the scent of chocolate and cinnamon, two of the best smells of his childhood. The breakfast they presented was reserved for the most special of days. Pan de yema, a soft, sweet bread and bowls of thick steaming chocolate laced with cinnamon. This was the food of his happiest memories. He and Tocón shared it many times. Always in celebration, always on the longest day of the year for Tocón's birthday and always Christmas morning, the day they celebrated both Johnny's and the Christ child's birth. The most vivid memory of this treat was the day he learned the song for his mother's gift. But this thought did not fill him with sadness. Looking around the table at all the smiles filled him instead, with hope, something he'd been missing for a very long time.

He nodded his approval to the women standing before him and they set thick slices of the bread and a steaming bowl at his place. When he looked up both women had smiles that filled their faces, a sight Johnny didn't think he'd ever seen on either woman.

JML

Life went on. Cowhands completed their daily chores. Johnny sat on the veranda and watched.

"I see you have removed the bandages. Do you think that is wise?" Inez stood over Johnny drying her hands on her apron.

"Probably not, especially since I plan on ridin' today," Johnny answered without looking up.

"Thought not. Mind if I wrap it? Not as much as before, but enough to keep you from further damage. Keep you in that doctor's favor, perhaps." She held up an odd shaped piece of wood, smaller than the splint. "Jelly fashioned this from the bowl of a wooden spoon. It will fit into the palm of your hand and keep you from breaking the stitches. But, you should be able to move your fingers. I think you'll be pleased."

"Jelly, huh?

"Si, he is very clever."

Johnny glanced up at Inez from his seat on the porch. She stood before him, a few medical supplies in her hands. "Sure, I'd like that." He answered with a nod.

She smiled in return.

They sat face to face for a moment then Inez's eyes went to his hand. She took Johnny's hand in hers. "It does not look bad, best to keep it that way."

He watched her movements, felt comforted by her gentle touch.

"I would very much like to leave today, if that is all right. You know where to find me should you have questions. I'm sure you'll have questions."

"You'll answer them, Inez? You'll be honest?"

"For you Juanito my life is an open book. It is the least I can do."

No words passed between them for a while. "I must confess, I never expected to see you so wealthy, hijo. This life I would have never foreseen. And I do not speak of money. You have riches here most men only dream of."

"It feels like a dream sometimes, Inez. And to think I…"

She placed a finger over his lips. "Shhh. You didn't."

"Thank you, Inez. Thank you for coming, for putting up with all this, for lookin' back, I know how hard it must have been."

"You are most welcome, Juanito. It has been good for me too. Though that is not why I came."

"I used to hate you, Inez, hated a lot of people." He laughed through his nose. "Course most deserved to be hated, but not you and not Murdoch."

"It is an honor to share that spot with your father. He is a good man."

Johnny dropped his head. "He is. And that is why I have more questions, questions that require honest answers."

"As I said… open book."

JML

Johnny sat atop the hill and surveyed the pasture below. Yellow petals floated on a gust of wind, some were carried high in the air while others were pushed along the ground. When the breeze stopped they swirled into piles or caught on clumps of grass. Drawing in a deep breath he smiled, a nearly imperceptible smile. But anyone that knew him, really knew him, would have known it was there. The thought caused the smile to grow. He had many such people in his life.

Tiempo descubre verdad. How many times did he hear that growing up. Time reveals truth. Empty words chanted by his mother whenever he was caught in a lie. Words of interest whispered in his ear when she believed he was sleeping. And now, after all this time, mama was right. Inez had revealed so many truths. Some he liked - most he didn't. During the ride he rolled the details over in his mind, deciding which he'd share and which were better off left unsaid. In the end, there would be only one secret left untold. No good could come from the telling. Murdoch Lancer did not need to know mama was with-child when she left.

Barely a toddler, Johnny had no recollection of those early years. And now, the only knowledge came from stories his mother told Inez. True? Impossible to say but they rang of truth and helped to made sense of a lot of things.

After leaving Lancer the three of them, Grayson, Maria and Johnny, arrived at their first destination. Grayson fussed over Maria. Treated her like delicate china, concerned for her condition. He offered tea to settle her stomach, brought it several times during the day, even woke her with the drink. It was too late by the time she discovered the tea was a mixture of three herbs, penny royal, tansy and blue cohosh all capable of 'cleansing the obstruction' as Inez put it. The words left Johnny cold but he could only believe it was for the best. He wouldn't have wished his life on anyone, especially a little brother or sister. Still, Inez's words brought the sting of tears to his eyes. No, this was one story he would take to his grave. No good could come from the telling.

The pound of horse's hooves alerted him to the approaching rider. There was no need to look. He'd spotted him long ago making his way up the winding trail. Murdoch dismounted and stood behind his son. "Inez said I was to meet you here. Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"As long as I'm not alone I'm ready." He looked up at his father. A flicker of sadness darkened his heart for a moment then, with a sigh, he pushed a smile to his lips. "Sit," he said patting the ground beside him. Then he frowned. "Didn't think about your back, we can go somewhere else…"

"No, Johnny, this is fine," Murdoch replied before folding his large frame to the ground accompanied by a muffled groan. "They're a beautiful sight, even now. I can see why she loved them."

No words were needed while father and son sat together with their memories of a mother and a wife.

"Tiempo descubre verdad." Johnny voiced quietly.

"Yes, Johnny, so it would seem. You put that in the watch you gave me." Murdoch reached into his pocket and pulled it out. "I've looked at it quite a bit of late," Murdoch said gazing at the inscription. "Did you know those were the only words on the note your mother left? That and her wedding ring were how she said goodbye."

"I wasn't sure she left anything, Murdoch."

"Yes, well…" Murdoch's faltering voice floated off on the breeze.

More silence united the two men. Eyes focused on the scenery below. "She loved you. Inez said she never stopped. It's what made Grayson so crazy, fed his hate, even after she was dead."

"I'm sorry Johnny, but I don't see it. Where was the love in what she did?"

Drawing a deep breath, Johnny bit his lower lip. "She knew Grayson from before, when she was a kid, sixteen maybe."

"Did he blackmail her? Did he have knowledge of some past deed?" Johnny heard the hope rise in his father's voice. The need to know it wasn't him, his fault that sent her away.

"I guess you could say that, but, in the eyes of the law he had every right to make the claim he did." Johnny moved his hand to his hip, taking some comfort in the fact that his gun rested there - where it belonged. Then, before he continued, he began to wind and unwind the beads from his wrist. The action was automatic, one he'd done more times than he could remember, one that always offered considerable comfort. But as he sat here, talking with his father, he found them unnecessary. The comfort came from the man beside him instead. "What you need to know, and I can tell you first hand, is Grayson, he was a smooth talker. Hell, he could talk hair out of butter. And, according to Inez, he talked both Mama and her family into allowin' her to marry. Paid him a sizable dowry to boot."

"Marry?" Murdoch seemed to swallow the word.

"He was her husband, Murdoch." Johnny stopped for a spell, didn't expect his father to speak but wanted these words to find a home. "Guess they were married a couple a years when she got word he was dead. Cheated the wrong man at cards and paid the price. At least that's what she thought until… until that day she went to town and he saw her. The gambler saw his wife."

The two men looked at each other. Johnny saw only questions in his father's eyes. Questions he could finally answer.

"I'm still not sure I understand. Why wouldn't she come to me? Explain? Together we could have…" He looked at his hands and tried to rub a smudge of dirt from his thumb. "She didn't need to leave. She didn't need to take you." Murdoch's voice cracked.

"Not sure of all her reasons but would imagine shame was at the top of the list. Two husbands, a bastard child… Not news you rush home to tell."

"John, you are my son, whether we were officially married or not. You are no bastard, not to me, not now, not ever. I love you… and I loved her…"

"Maybe she didn't know how much, maybe she thought she didn't deserve…" Johnny stopped, suddenly knowing his mother better than he ever had before. Knowing that was exactly how she felt. Exactly how he felt for years. His voice was distant when he started again. "Grayson had a way of makin' a person feel dirty. Would a told her all kinds a things, would a made her believe you wouldn't want to look at her. Would a made her believe you'd spit on a bastard son." He swallowed hard - remembering those very words. Words Grayson threw around easy, words that hurt as much as a punch to the gut. The loving pressure of Murdoch's hand at the base of his neck pushed the memory back where it belonged.

Johnny stood and began a thoughtful pace. "It's hard to put everything together. Grayson told so many lies. Each one based on a splinter of truth." He moved toward Barranca and laid a hand on his neck. "How was a boy supposed to know the difference?"

Murdoch rose silently and stood, looking at his son.

"So many lies." The words were spoken more to himself than his father. "He told me what you did to her, how you hurt her. How you told us to hit the road. And Mama, well, she just said we could never go back, it was too dangerous, someone would end up dead." He turned to look at his father. "She was right, you know. But it wasn't what I thought. It wasn't her or even me… it was you… you she was trying to protect."

Johnny looked at his father, searching his face for a reaction. There was little, except for the eyes. The emotions that flickered in those faded blue eyes told of a life full of pain and doubt. They looked at nothing in particular, as far as Johnny could tell. But gradually they brightened, regaining some of their youthful color. Was it tears or a lightening of his heart? "Me? She did all that for me?"

"A bullet would a found your back as sure as I'm standin' here, just didn't know why. Heard the man say it enough times, watched him do it to a few too. Always thought it was for what you did to her. But it was his pride… his fuckin' pride. You took his wife and she loved you more than she could ever love him. And for that Grayson wanted revenge… it's what he lived for. And in his twisted mind his bullet wasn't enough. It needed to be more and that's where I came in."

"My god Johnny, were you with him long?" Murdoch waited for an answer. His son's eyes were no longer focused on him. His head had dropped and he was kicking at the dirt looking every bit a lost little boy. "Johnny? Were you with him long?"

Pulled from his thoughts, Johnny lifted his head and stared blankly at his father, blinking several times to clear his vision. "Long enough, but that's not on the table today. Nope, not today."

"I understand, Son. You've given me a lot, more than I ever expected and I thank you." Murdoch placed his arm around his son and pulled him close then finished with a solid pat on his back.

Johnny looked at his father. Here was a man he could count on, a man he could trust. Not just with his life, but his heart. There weren't many he could say that about. "There's somethin' I need ya to do for me, Murdoch."

"Anything, John." He stepped closer to his son. "Anything at all."

Dipping his head slightly, Johnny pulled his beads from his wrist. "I'd like you to keep these for me."

Disbelief filled Murdoch's eyes. "Johnny, your beads? Why?"

"Don't think I'm gonna need these again. But, if I ever do, I want you to know I'll come to you first. Does that sit right with you?"

"You know it does, Son." His eyes shown brighter still and he couldn't contain the grin that stretched across his face.

Johnny dropped the beads into his outstretched hand. Murdoch looked from them to his son and back to the beads. "I'm honored," he rejoiced. "This means more than you know. Thank you."

The joy on his father's face forced Johnny to look away, his heart so full, he felt it would burst. Inez was right. He was a very wealthy man.

There was a marked shift in the wind and the fragrance drifted up the hillside. Both men reacted at the same time, drawing in a breath and smiling at the scent. "She did love that smell, always wanted a bush near the house but I just never got around to it."

They looked at each other and knew what needed to be done. Without words they mounted their horses and rode down the hill.

The End

I would love to hear from you, if you liked this story or even if you didn't. Thanks for taking the time to read it. ~Jan~


End file.
